LIBRARY 

OF    THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 
doss 


E 


VIE 


NDON 


ULIBR 
OF 
NIVERSITY  O 


C3*- — ^V ~**= 

THE 
IGAME 


-JACK  - 
LONDON 


THE  MACMILLAN 
COMPANY 


THE 


GAME 


JACK  LONDON 


Hard  all  over  just  like  that/  he  went  on."  —  See  p.  27. 


THE    GAME 


BY  JACK    LONDON 

AUTHOR  OF  "PEOPLE  OF  THE  ABYSS,"  "THE  CALL 
OF  THE  WILD,"   "THE  SEA-WOLF,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  AND  DECORATIONS 
HENRY  HUTT  AND   T.   C.  LAWRENC 


THE    MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

LONDON  ;    MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1905 

All  rights  reserved 


.JUrtiM 


CC:      •  :'05' 

BY  THE  METROPOLITAN  MAGAZINE  CO. 


COPYRIGHT,  1905, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  June,  1905. 


J.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


T 

c 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

CHAPTER   I ii 

CHAPTER   II 41 

CHAPTER   III 83 

CHAPTER  IV 103 

CHAPTER   V 127 

CHAPTER   VI 153 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  « Hard  all  over  just  like  that,'  he  went  on  " 

Frontispiece 

PACK 

"  *  All  I  know  is  that  you  feel  good  in  the  ring '  "        19 

"So  he  left  her  to  remain  in  the  shop  in  a  waking 

trance" 57 

"He  left  her  seated  on  a  dusty,  broken-bottomed 

chair" 95 

"  The  perfection  of  line  and  strength  and  develop 
ment"  115 

" Joe  protecting,  Ponta  rushing"        .         .          .      159 


CHAPTER  I 


THE    GAME 


CHAPTER   I 

MANY  patterns  of  carpet  lay  rolled  out 
before  them  on  the  floor — two  of  Brus 
sels  showed  the  beginning  of  their  quest, 
and  its  ending  in  that  direction ;  while  a 
score  of  ingrains  lured  their  eyes  and  pro 
longed  the  debate  between  desire  and 
pocket-book.  The  head  of  the  depart 
ment  did  them  the  honor  of  waiting  upon 


i6 


THE   GAME 


them  himself — or  did   Joe   the   honor,  as 

she  well  knew,  for  she  had  noted  the  open- 
mouthed  awe  of  the  elevator 
boy  who  brought  them  up. 
Nor  had  she  been  blind  to 
the  marked  respect  shown  Joe 
by  the  urchins  and  groups 
of  young  fellows  on  corners, 
when  she  walked  with  him  in 
their  own  neighborhood  down 
at  the  west  end  of  the  town. 
But  the  head  of  the  de 
partment  was  called  away  to 
the  telephone,  and  in  her 
mind  the  splendid  promise  of 
the  carpets  and  the  irk  of  the 
pocket-book  were  thrust  aside 

by  a  greater  doubt  and  anxiety. 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  you  find  to  like 

in  it,  Joe,"  she  said  softly,  the  note  of  insist- 


THE   GAME 


ence  in  her  words  be 
traying  recent  and  un 
satisfactory  discussion. 

For  a  fleeting  mo 
ment  a  shadow  dark 
ened   his   boyish   face, 
to  be  replaced  by  the 
glow    of    tenderness. 
He  was  only  a  boy, 
as  she  was  only  a  girl 
—  two  young  things  on 
the  threshold  of  life,  house- 
renting  and  buying  carpets  togeth( 

"  What's  the  good  of  worrying  ? "  he 
questioned.  "  It's  the  last  go,  the  very 
last." 

He  smiled  at  her,  but  she  saw  on  his 
lips  the  unconscious  and  all  but  breathed 
sigh  of  renunciation,  and  with  the  instinc 
tive  monopoly  of  woman  for  her  mate,  she 


1 8  THE   GAME 

feared   this   thing   she   did   not  understand 
and  which  gripped  his  life  so  strongly. 

"You  know  the  go  with  O'Neil  cleared 
the  last  payment  on  mother's  house,"  he 
went  on.  "And  that's  off  my 
mind.  Now  this  last  with 
Ponta  will  give  me  a  hundred 
dollars  •  in  bank  —  an  even 
hundred,  that's  the  purse 
—  for  you  and  me  to 
start  on,  a  nest-egg." 
She  disregarded  the  money 
appeal.  "  But  you  like  it,  this 
—  this  cgame'  you  call  it.  Why?" 

He  lacked  speech-expression.  He  ex 
pressed  himself  with  his  hands,  at  his  work, 
and  with  his  body  and  the  play  of  his  mus 
cles  in  the  squared  ring ;  but  to  tell  with 
his  own  lips  the  charm  of  the  squared  ring 
was  beyond  him.  Yet  he  essayed,  and  halt- 


"'All  I  know  is  that  you  feel  good  in  the  ring. 


UNIVERSITY 
or 


THE   GAME 


21 


ingly  at  first,  to  express  what  he  felt  and 
never  analyzed  when  playing  the  Game  at 
the  supreme  summit  of  existence. 

"All  I  know,  Genevieve,  is  that  you  feel 
good  in  the  ring  when  you've  got  the  man 
where  you  want  him,  when  he's  had  a  punch 
up  both  sleeves  waiting  for 
you  and  youVe  never 


given 


him 


an    opening 


to     land     'em,     when 
you've    landed    your 
own   little  punch   an* 
he's  goin'  groggy,  an' 
holdin'    on,    an'     the 
referee's  dragging  him 
off  so's  you  can  go  in 
an*  finish  'm,  an'  all  the 
house    is    shouting     an* 
tearin*  itself  loose,  an'  you 
know  you're  the  best  man,  an' 


22 


THE   GAME 


that  you  played  'm  fair  an' 
won  out  because  you're  the 
best  man.  I  tell  you  —  " 

He  ceased  brokenly,  alarmed 
by  his  own  volubility  and  by 
Genevieve's  look  of  alarm. 
As  he  talked  she  had  watched 
his  face  while  fear  dawned  in  her  own. 
As  he  described  the  moment  of  moments 
to  her,  on  his  inward  vision  were  lined  the 
tottering  man,  the  lights,  the  shouting 
house,  and  he  swept  out  and  away  from 
her  on  this  tide  of  life  that 
was  beyond  her  compre 
hension,  menacing,  irre 
sistible,  making  her  love 
pitiful  and  weak.  The  Joe 
she  knew  receded,  faded, 
became  lost.  The  fresh  boy 
ish  face  was  gone,  the  tenderness 


THE   GAME  23 

of  the  eyes,  the  sweetness  of  the  mouth 
with  its  curves  and  pictured  corners.  It 
was  a  man's  face  she  saw,  a  face  of  steel, 
tense  and  immobile  ;  a  mouth  of  steel,  the 
lips  like  the  jaws  of  a  trap;  eyes  of  steel, 
dilated,  intent,  and  the  light  in  them  and 
the  glitter  were  the  light  and  glitter  of 
steel.  The  face  of  a  man,  and  she  had 
known  only  his  boy  face.  This  face  she 
did  not  know  at  all. 

And  yet,  while  it  frightened  her,  she 
was  vaguely  stirred  with  pride  in  him. 
His  masculinity,  the  masculinity  of  the 
fighting  male,  made  its  inevitable  appeal 
to  her,  a  female,  moulded  by  all  her  hered 
ity  to  seek  out  the  strong  man  for  mate,  and 
to  lean  against  the  wall  of  his  strength. 
She  did  not  understand  this  force  of  his 
being  that  rose  mightier  than  her  love  and 
laid  its  compulsion  upon  him ;  and  yet, 


24  THE    GAME 

in  her  woman's  heart  she  was  aware  of  trie 
sweet  pang  which  told  her  that  for  her  sake, 
for  Love's  own  sake,  he  had  surrendered  to 

her,  abandoned  all 
that  portion  of  his 
life,  and  with  this  one 
last  fight  would  never 
fight  again. 

"  Mrs.  Silverstein 
doesn't  like  prize 
fighting,"  she  said. 
"She's  down  on  it, 
and  she  knows  some 
thing,  too." 

He  smiled  indul 
gently,  concealing  a 
hurt,  not  altogether  new,  at  her  persistent 
inappreciation  of  this  side  of  his  nature  and 
life  in  which  he  took  the  greatest  pride.  It 
was  to  him  power  and  achievement,  earned 


THE   GAME 


by  his  own  effort  and  hard  work;  and  in 
the  moment  when  he  had  offered  himself  and 
all  that  he  was  to  Genevieve,  it  was  this, 
and  this  alone,  that  he  was  *£& 
proudly  conscious  of  lay 
ing  at  her  feet.  It 
was  the  merit  of 
work  performed, 
a  guerdon  of  man 
hood  finer  and 
greater  than  any 
other  man  could 
offer,  and  it 
had  been  to  him 
his  justification  and 
right  to  possess  her.  And  she  ^Y*  had  not 
understood  it  then,  as  she  did  not  under 
stand  it  now,  and  he  might  well  have  won 
dered  what  else  she  found  in  him  to  make 
him  worthy. 


26 


THE   GAME 


"  Mrs.  Silverstein  is 
a   dub,    and    a    softy, 
and    a    knocker/*    he 
said   good-humoredly. 
"  What's     she     know 
about     such       things, 
anyway  ?     I  tell  you  it  is 
good,  and   healthy,  too," 
—  this    last   as    an    after 
thought.     "Look  at  me. 
I  tell  you  I  have  to  live 

clean   to  be   in   condition 

^*^&r 

like  this.  I  live  cleaner  than  she 
does,  or  her  old  man,  or  anybody  you 
know  —  baths,  rub-downs,  exercise,  regular 
hours,  good  food  and  no  makin'  a  pig  of 
myself,  no  drinking,  no  smoking,  nothing 
that'll  hurt  me.  Why,  I  live  cleaner  than 
you,  Genevieve  —  " 

"Honest,  I  do,"  he  hastened  to  add  at 


THE   GAME 


27 


sight  of  her  shocked  face.  "  I  don't  mean 
water  an'  soap,  but  look  there."  His  hand 
closed  reverently  but  firmly  on  her  arm. 
"Soft,  you're  all  soft, 
all  over.  Not  like  mine. 
Here,  feel  this." 

He  pressed  the  ends 
of  her  fingers  into  his 
hard  arm-muscles  until 
she  winced  from  the 
hurt. 

"  Hard  all  over,  just 
like  that,"  he  went  on. 
"  Now  that's  what  I  call 
clean.  Every  bit  of 
flesh  an'  blood  an'  mus 
cle  is  clean  right  down 
to  the  bones  —  and  they're  clean,  too.  No 
soap  and  water  only  on  the  skin,  but 
clean  all  the  way  in.  I  tell  you  it  feels 


28  THE   GAME 

clean.  It  knows  it's  clean  itself.  When 
I  wake  up  in  the  morning  an'  go  to  work, 
every  drop  of  blood  and  bit  of  meat  is 
shouting  right  out  that  it  is  clean.  Oh,  I 
tell  you  —  " 

He  paused  with  swift  awkwardness,  again 
confounded  by  his  unwonted  flow  of  speech. 
Never  in  his  life  had  he  been  stirred  to 
such  utterance,  and  never  in  his  life  had 
there  been  cause  to  be  so  stirred.  For  it 
was  the  Game  that  had  been  questioned, 
its  verity  and  worth,  the  Game  itself,  the 
biggest  thing  in  the  world  —  or  what  had 
been  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world  until 
that  chance  afternoon  and  that  chance  pur 
chase  in  Silverstein's  candy  store,  when 
Genevieve  loomed  suddenly  colossal  in  his 
life,  overshadowing  all  other  things.  He 
was  beginning  to  see,  though  vaguely,  the 
sharp  conflict  between  woman  and  career, 


THE   GAME  29 

between   a   man's   work  in   the   world   and 
woman's  need  of  the  man.     But  he  was  not 


capable  of  generalization.  He  saw  only  the 
antagonism  between  the  concrete,  flesh-and- 
blood  Genevieve  and  the  great,  abstract,  liv- 


3o  THE   GAME 

ing  Game.  Each  resented  the  other,  each 
claimed  him ;  he  was  torn  with  the  strife, 
and  yet  drifted  helpless  on  the  currents  of 
their  contention. 

His  words  had  drawn  Genevieve's  gaze 
to  his  face,  and  she  had  pleasured  in  the 
clear  skin,  the  clear  eyes,  the  cheek  soft  and 
smooth  as  a  girl's.  She  saw  the  force  of 
his  argument  and  disliked  it  accordingly. 
She  revolted  instinctively  against  this  Game 
which  drew  him  away  from  her,  robbed  her 
of  part  of  him.  It  was  a  rival  she  did  not 
understand.  Nor  could  she  understand  its 
seductions.  Had  it  been  a  woman  rival, 


THE    GAME  31 

another  girl,  knowledge  and  light  and  sight 
would  have  been  hers.  As  it  was,  she 
grappled  in  the  dark  with  an  intangible 
adversary  about  which  she  knew  nothing. 
What  truth  she  felt  in  his  speech  made  the 
Game  but  the  more  formidable. 

A  sudden  conception  of  her  weakness 
came  to  her.  She  felt  pity  for  herself,  and 
sorrow.  She  wanted  him,  all  of  him, 
her  woman's  need  would  not  be  satisfied 
with  less ;  and  he  eluded  her,  slipped  away 
here  and  there  from  the  embrace  with 
which  she  tried  to  clasp  him.  Tears  swam 
into  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  trembled,  turn 
ing  defeat  into  victory,  routing  the  all- 
potent  Game  with  the  strength  of  her 
weakness. 

"Don't,  Genevieve,  don't,"  the  boy 
pleaded,  all  contrition,  though  he  was 
confused  and  dazed.  To  his  masculine 


32  THE   GAME 

mind  there  was  nothing  relevant  about  her 
break-down ;  yet  all  else  was  forgotten  at 
sight  of  her  tears. 

She  smiled  forgiveness  through  her  wet 
eyes,  and  though  he  knew  of  nothing  for 
which  to  be  forgiven,  he  melted  utterly. 
His  hand  went  out  impulsively  to  hers, 
but  she  avoided  the  clasp  by  a  sort  of 
bodily  stiffening  and  chill,  the  while  the 
eyes  smiled  still  more  gloriously. 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Clausen,"  she  said, 
at  the  same  time,  by  some  transforming 
alchemy  of  woman,  presenting  to  the  new 
comer  eyes  that  showed  no  hint  of  moist- 
ness. 

"  Think  I  was  never  coming  back,  Joe  ?  " 
queried  the  head  of  the  department,  a 
pink-and-white-faced  man,  whose  austere 
side-whiskers  were  belied  by  genial  little 
eyes. 


THE   GAME 


33 


"Now  let  me  see  —  hum,  yes,  we  was 
discussing  ingrains,"  he  continued  briskly. 
"  That  tasty  little  pattern  there  catches  your 
eye,  don't  it  now,  eh?  Yes,  yes,  I  know 
all  about  it.  I  set  up  housekeeping  when 
I  was  getting  fourteen  a  week.  But  noth 
ing's  too  good  for  the  little  nest,  eh  ?  Of 
course  I  know,  and  it's  only  seven  cents 
more,  and  the  dearest  is  the  cheapest,  I 
say.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Joe,"  —  this 
with  a  burst  of  philanthropic  impulsiveness 


34  THE    GAME 

and  a  confidential  lowering  of  voice, — 
"seein's  it's  you,  and  I  wouldn't  do  it  for 
anybody  else,  •  I'll  reduce  it 
five  cents.  Only,"  —  here 
his  voice  became  impress 
ively  solemn,  —  "  only  you 
mustn't  ever  tell  how  much 
you  really  did  pay." 

"  Sewed,  lined,  and  laid  — 
of  course  that's  included," 
he  said,  after  Joe  and  Gene- 
vieve  had  conferred  to 
gether  and  announced  their 
decision. 

"And  the  little  nest, 
eh  ?  "  he  queried.  "  When 
do  you  spread  your  wings  and  fly  away  ? 
To-morrow !  So  soon  ?  Beautiful !  Beau 
tiful  ! " 

He    rolled    his    eyes    ecstatically   for    a 


THE   GAME  35 

moment,  then  beamed  upon  them  with 
a  fatherly  air. 

Joe  had  replied  sturdily  enough,  and 
Genevieve  had  blushed  prettily ;  but  both 
felt  that  it  was  not  exactly  proper.  Not 
alone  because  of  the  privacy  and  holiness 
of  the  subject,  but  because  of  what  might 
have  been  prudery  in  the  middle  class,  but 
which  in  them  was  the  modesty  and  reti 
cence  found  in  individuals  of  the  working 
class  when  they  strive  after  clean  living 
and  morality. 

Mr.  Clausen  accompanied  them  to  the 
elevator,  all  smiles,  patronage,  and  benefi 
cence,  while  the  clerks  turned  their  heads 
to  follow  Joe's  retreating  figure. 

"And  to-night,  Joe?"  Mr.  Clausen 
asked  anxiously,  as  they  waited  at  the 
shaft.  "How  do  you  feel?  Think  you'll 
do  him?" 


36  THE   GAME 

"  Sure/*  Joe  answered.  "  Never  felt 
better  in  my  life." 

"You  feel  all  right,  eh?  Good!  Good! 
You  see,  I  was  just  a-wonderin'  —  you 
know,  ha !  ha  !  —  goin'  to  get  married  and 
the  rest  —  thought  you  might  be  unstrung, 
eh,  a  trifle?  —  nerves  just  a  bit  off,  you 
know.  Know  how  gettin'  married  is  my 
self.  But  you're  all  right,  eh  ?  Of  course 
you  are.  No  use  asking  you  that.  Ha ! 
ha !  Well,  good  luck,  my  boy !  I  know 
you'll  win.  Never  had  the  least  doubt, 
of  course,  of  course." 

"And  good-by,  Miss  Pritchard,"  he 
said  to  Genevieve,  gallantly  handing  her 
into  the  elevator.  "  Hope  you  call  often. 
Will  be  charmed  —  charmed  —  I  assure 
you." 

"  Everybody  calls  you  ( Joe ',"  she  said 
reproachfully,  as  the  car  dropped  downward. 


THE 

UNIVERSITY 


THE   GAME 


Why    don't    they    call    you    __.^^~i^^/|]| 

~rrP®(S'Q(?^<s\    ' 

Dow 

dbcfe 


'Mr.    Fleming'?      That's    no     VU^H 


s 


more  than  proper." 

But  he  was  staring  moodily 
at  the  elevator  boy  and  did 
not  seem  to  hear. 

"What's   the   matter,   Joe?" 
she    asked,    with    a    tenderness 
the   power  of  which   to  thrill    him  she 
knew  full  well. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  he  said.  "  I  was  only 
thinking  —  and  wishing." 

"Wishing?  —  what?"  Her  voice  was 
seduction  itself,  and  her  eyes  would  have 
melted  stronger  than  he,  though  they 
failed  in  calling  his  up  to  them. 

Then,  deliberately,  his  eyes  lifted  to 
hers.  "  I  was  wishing  you  could  see  me 
fight  just  once." 

She    made    a    gesture    of    disgust,    and 


38  THE   GAME 

his  face  fell.  It  came  to  her  sharply  that 
the  rival  had  thrust  between  and  was 
bearing  him  away. 

"I  —  I'd    like    to,"     she     said    hastily, 
with  an  effort,  striving  after  that  sympathy 
which  weakens  the  strongest  men  and  draws 
their     /*^    heads  to  women's  breasts. 
"Will  you?" 

Again  his  eyes  lifted  and 
looked  into  hers.     He 
meant    it  —  she    knew 
that.     It  seemed  a  chal 
lenge    to    the  greatness  of 
her  love. 

"  It  would  be  the  proudest  moment 
of  my  life,"  he  said  simply. 

It  may  have  been  the  apprehensiveness 
of  love,  the  wish  to  meet  his  need  for  her 
sympathy,  and  the  desire  to  see  the  Game 
face  to  face  for  wisdom's  sake,  and  it  may 


THE  GAME  39 

have  been  the 
clarion  call  of 
adventure  ringing 
through  the  nar 
row  confines  of 
uneventful  exist 
ence  ;  for  a  great 
daring  thrilled 
through  her,  and 
she  said,  just  as 
simply,  « I  will." 
"I  didn't  think 

you  would,  or    ^    I  wouldn't  have  asked," 

he  confessed,  as  they  walked 

out  to  the  sidewalk. 

"But   can't   it    be   done?" 

she    asked    anxiously,    before 

her  resolution  could  cool. 
"  Oh,  I  can  fix  that ;  but  I 

didn't  think  you  would." 


40  THE   GAME 

"  I  didn't  think  you  would,"  he  repeated, 
still  amazed,  as  he  helped  her  upon  the 
electric  car  and  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the 
fare. 


CHAPTER   II 


CHAPTER   II 

GENEVIEVE  and  Joe  were  working-class 
aristocrats.  In  an  environment  made  up 
largely  of  sordidness  and  wretchedness  they 
had  kept  themselves  unsullied  and  whole 
some.  Theirs  was  a  self-respect,  a  regard 
for  the  niceties  and  clean  things  of  life, 
which  had  held  them  aloof  from  their  kind. 
Friends  did  not  come  to  them  easily;  nor 
had  either  ever  possessed  a  really  intimate 
friend,  a  heart-companion  with  whom  to 

45 


46  THE   GAME 

chum  and  have  things  in  common.  The 
social  instinct  was  strong  in  them,  yet  they 
had  remained  lonely  because  they  could  not 
satisfy  that  instinct  and  at  that  same  time 
satisfy  their  desire  for  cleanness  and  de 
cency. 

If  ever  a  gM  of  the  working  class  had 
led  the  sheltered  life,  it  was  Genevieve.  In 
the  midst  of  roughness  and  brutality,  she 
had  shunned  all  that  was  rough  and  brutal. 
She  saw  but  what  she  chose  to  see,  and  she 
chose  always  to  see  the  best,  avoiding 
coarseness  and  uncouthness  without  effort, 
as  a  matter  of  instinct.  To  begin  with,  she 
had  been  peculiarly  unexposed.  An  only 
child,  with  an  invalid  mother  upon  whom 
she  attended,  she  had  not  joined  in  the 
street  games  and  frolics  of  the  children  of 
the  neighborhood.  Her  father,  a  mild- 
tempered,  narrow-chested,  anaemic  little 


THE   GAME 


47 


clerk,    domestic    because 
of  his  inherent  disabil 
ity  to  mix  with  men, 
had  done  his  full  share 
toward    giving     the 
home  an  atmosphere  of 
sweetness  and  tenderness. 
An   orphan    at   twelve, 
Genevieve     had    gone 
straight  from  her  father's 

funeral   to   live   with   the 
Silversteins  in  their  rooms 
above  the  candy  store; 
and  here,    sheltered    by 
kindly    aliens,    she 
earned  her  keep  and 
clothes  by  waiting  on 
the  shop.    Being  Gen 
tile,  she  was  especially 
necessary  to  the  Silversteins, 


48  THE   GAME 

who  would  not  run  the  business  them 
selves  when  the  day  of  their  Sabbath  came 
around. 


And  here,  in  the  uneventful  little  shop, 
six  maturing  years  had  slipped  by.  Her 
acquaintances  were  few.  She  had  elected  to 
have  no  girl  chum  for  the  reason  that  no 
satisfactory  girl  had  appeared.  Nor  did  she 


THE   GAME  49 

choose  to  walk  with  the  young  fellows  of 
the  neighborhood,  as  was  the  custom  of  girls 
from  their  fifteenth  year.  "That  stuck-up 
doll-face/'  was  the  way  the  girls  of  the 
neighborhood  described  her ;  and  though 
she  earned  their  enmity  by  her  beauty  and 
aloofness,  she  none  the  less  commanded 
their  respect.  "  Peaches  and  cream,"  she 
was  called  by  the  young  men  —  though 
softly  and  amongst  themselves,  for  they 
were  afraid  of  arousing  the  ire  of  the  other 
girls,  while  they  stood  in  awe  of  Genevieve, 
in  a  dimly  religious  way,  as  a  something 
mysteriously  beautiful  and  unapproachable. 


For   she  was   indeed   beautiful.     Spring 
ing  from  a  long  line  of  American  descent, 


50  THE   GAME 

she  was  one  of  those  wonderful  working- 
class  blooms  which  occasionally  appear, 
defying  all  precedent  of  forebears  and 
environment,  apparently  without  cause  or 
explanation.  She  was  a  beauty  in  color, 
the  blood  spraying  her  white  skin  so 
deliciously  as  to  earn  for  her  the  apt 
description,  "  peaches  and  cream."  She 
was  a  beauty  in  the  regularity  of  her 
features  ;  and,  if  for  no  other  reason,  she 
was  a  beauty  in  the  mere  delicacy  of  the 
lines  on  which  she  was  moulded.  Quiet, 
low-voiced,  stately,  and  dignified,  she  some 
how  had  the  knack  of  dress,  and  but 
befitted  her  beauty  and  dignity  with  any 
thing  she  put  on.  Withal,  she  was  sheerly 
feminine,  tender  and  'soft  and  clinging, 
with  the  smouldering  passion  of  the  mate 
and  the  motherliness  of  the  woman.  But 
this  side  of  her  nature  had  lain  dormant 


THE   GAME  51 

through  the  years,  waiting  for  the  mate  to 
appear. 

Then  Joe  came  into  Silverstein's  shop 
one  hot  Saturday  afternoon  to  cool  himself 
with  ice-cream  soda.  She  had  not 
noticed  his  entrance,  being  busy 
with  one  other  customer,  an  ur 
chin  of  six  or  seven  who  gravely 
analyzed  his  desires  before  the 
show-case  wherein  truly  gen 
erous  and  marvellous  candy 
creations  reposed  under  a  card 
board  announcement,  "  Five 
for  Five  Cents." 

She  had  heard,  "  Ice-cream 
soda,  please,"  and  had  herself 
asked,  "What  flavor?"  with 
out  seeing  his  face.  For  that  matter,  it 
was  not  a  custom  of  hers  to  notice  young 
men.  There  was  something  about  them 


52  THE   GAME 

she  did  not  understand.  The  way  they 
looked  at  her  made  her  uncomfortable,  she 
knew  not  why ;  while  there  was  an  uncouth- 
ness  and  roughness  about  them  that  did 
not  please  her.  As  yet,  her  imagination 
had  been  untouched  by  man.  The  young 
fellows  she  had  seen  had  held  no  lure  for 
her,  had  been  without  meaning  to  her.  In 
short,  had  she  been  asked  to  give  one  reason 
for  the  existence  of  men  on  the  earth,  she 
would  have  been  nonplussed  for  a  reply. 

As  she  emptied  the  measure  of  ice-cream 
into  the  glass,  her  casual  glance  rested  on 
Joe's  face,  and  she  experienced  on  the 
instant  a  pleasant  feeling  of  satisfaction. 
The  next  instant  his  eyes  were  upon  her 
face,  her  eyes  had  dropped,  and  she  was 
turning  away  toward  the  soda  fountain. 
But  at  the  fountain,  filling  the  glass,  she 
was  impelled  to  look  at  him  again  — 


THE   GAME  53 

but  for  no  more  than 
an  instant,  for  this 
time  she  found  his 
eyes  already  upon 
her,  waiting  to  meet 
hers,  while  on  .his 
face  was  a  frank 
ness  of  interest  that 
caused  her  quickly  to  look  away. 
That  such  pleasingness  would 
reside  for  her  in  any  man  aston 
ished  her.  "What  a  pretty  boy,"  she 
thought  to  herself,  innocently  and  instinc 
tively  trying  to  ward  off  the  power  to  hold 
and  draw  her  that  lay  behind  the  mere 
prettiness.  "  Besides,  he  isn't  pretty,"  she 
thought,  as  she  placed  the  glass  before 
him,  received  the  silver  dime  in  payment, 
and  for  the  third  time  looked  into  his 
eyes.  Her  vocabulary  was  limited,  and 


\ 


54 


THE   GAME 


she  knew  little  of  the  worth  of  words ; 
but  the  strong  masculinity  of  his  boy's  face 
told  her  that  the  term  was  inappropriate. 
"  He  must  be  hand 
some,  then,"  was  her 
;\  next  thought,  as 
/j  \  again  she  dropped 
her  eyes  before 
his.  But  all 
good  -  looking  men 


were  called  handsome,  and 
that  term,    too,    displeased 
her.     But  whatever  it  was, 
he    was   good   to    see,    and    she 
was  irritably   aware   of  a  desire 
to  look  at  him  again  and  again. 
As  for  Joe,  he  had  never  seen  anything 
like   this    girl    across   the    counter.      While 
he   was    wiser    in    natural    philosophy    than 
she,  and  could  have  given  immediately  the 


THE   GAME  55 

reason  for  woman's  existence  on  the  earth, 
nevertheless  woman  had  no  part  in  his 
cosmos.  His  imagination  was  as  untouched 
by  woman  as  the  girl's  was  by  man.  But 
his  imagination  was  touched  now,  and  the 
woman  was  Genevieve.  He  had  never 
dreamed  a  girl  could  be  so  beautiful,  and 
he  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her  face. 
Yet  every  time  he  looked  at  her,  and  her 
eyes  met  his,  he  felt  painful  embarrassment, 
and  would  have  looked  away  had  not  her 
eyes  dropped  so  quickly. 

But  when,  at  last,  she  slowly  lifted  her 
eyes  and  held  their  gaze  steadily,  it  was  his 
own  eyes  that  dropped,  his  own  cheek  that 
mantled  red.  She  was  much  less  embar 
rassed  than  he,  while  she  betrayed  her  em 
barrassment  not  at  all.  She  was  aware  of  a 
flutter  within,  such  as  she  had  never  known 
before,  but  in  no  way  did  it  disturb  her  out- 


5 6  THE   GAME 

ward  serenity.    Joe,  on  the  contrary,  was  ob 
viously  awkward  and  delightfully  miserable. 


Neither  knew  love,  and  all  that  either  was 
aware  of  was  an  overwhelming  desire  to  look 
at  the  other.  Both  had  been  troubled  and 


"  So  he  left  her  to  remain  in  the  shop  in  a  waking  trance." 


or  THE 

UNIVERSITY 
or 


THE   GAME  59 

roused,  and  they  were  drawing  together  with 
the  sharpness  and  imperativeness  of  uniting 
elements.  He  toyed  with  his  spoon,  and 
flushed  his  embarrassment  over  his  soda, 
but  lingered  on;  and  she  spoke  softly, 
dropped  her  eyes,  and  wove  her  witchery 
about  him. 

But  he  could  not  linger  forever  over  a 
glass  of  ice-cream  soda,  while  he  did  not 
dare  ask  for  a  second  glass.  So  he  left  her 
to  remain  in  the  shop  in  a  waking  trance, 
and  went  away  himself  down  the  street  like  a 
somnambulist.  Genevieve  dreamed  through 
the  afternoon  and  knew  that  she  was  in 
love.  Not  so  with  Joe.  He  knew  only 
that  he  wanted  to  look  at  her  again,  to 
see  her  face.  His  thoughts  did  not  get 
beyond  this,  and  besides,  it  was  scarcely  a 
thought,  being  more  a  dim  and  inarticulate 
;  desire. 


6o 


THE   GAME 


The  urge  of  this  desire  he  could  not 
escape.  Day  after  day  it  worried  him,  and 
the  candy  shop  and  the 
girl  behind  the  counter 
continually  obtruded 
themselves.  He  fought 
off  the  desire.  He 
was  afraid  and  ashamed 
to  go  back  to  the 
candy  shop.  He  solaced 
his  fear  with,  "  I  ain't  a 
ladies'  gSj/K  man."  Not  once,  nor  twice, 
but  scores  \2P  of  times,  he  muttered  the 
thought  to  himself,  but  it  did  no  good. 
And  by  the  middle  of  the  week,  in  the 
evening,  after  work,  he  came  into  the  shop. 
He  tried  to  come  in  carelessly  and  casu 
ally,  but  his  whole  carriage  advertised  the 
strong  effort  of  will  that  compelled  his  legs 
to  carry  his  reluctant  body  thither.  Also, 


THE   GAME  61 

he  was  shy,  and  awkwarder  than  ever. 
Genevieve,  on  the  contrary,  was  serener 
than  ever,  though  fluttering  most  alarm 
ingly  within.  He  was  incapable  of  speech, 
mumbled  his  order,  looked  anxiously  at 
the  clock,  despatched  his  ice-cream  soda  in 
tremendous  haste,  and  was  gone. 

She  was  ready  to  weep  with  vexation. 
Such  meagre  reward  for  four  days'  waiting, 
and  assuming  all  the  time  that  she  loved ! 
He  was  a  nice  boy  and  all  that,  she  knew, 
but  he  needn't  have  been  in  so  disgraceful 
a  hurry.  But  Joe  had  not  reached  the 
corner  before  he  wanted  to  be  back  with  her 
again.  He  just  wanted  to  look  at  her.  He 
had  no  thought  that  it  was  love.  Love? 
That  was  when  young  fellows  and  girls 
walked  out  together.  As  for  him  — 
And  then  his  desire  took  sharper  shape,  and 
he  discovered  that  that  was  the  very  thing 


62 


THE   GAME 


he  wanted  her  to  do.  He  wanted  to  see 
her,  to  look  at  her,  and  well  could  he  do  all 
this  if  she  but  walked  out  with  him.  Then 
that  was  why  the  young 
fellows  and  girls  walked 
out  together,  he  mused, 
as  the  week-end  drew 
near.  He  had  re 
motely  considered  this 
walking  out  to  be  a 
mere  form  or  observ 
ance  preliminary 
to  matrimony. 
Now  he  saw  the 
deeper  wisdom  in 
it,  wanted  it  ^^M>^  himself,  and  con 
cluded  therefrom  that  he  was  in  love.  Both 
were  now  of  the  same  mind,  and  there 
could  be  but  the  one  ending;  and  it  was 
the  mild  nine  days'  wonder  of  Genevieve's 


THE   GAiME  63 

neighborhood    when    she    and    Joe    walked 
out  together. 

Both  were  blessed  with  an  avarice  of 
speech,  and  because  of  it  their  courtship 
was  a  long  one.  As  he  expressed  himself 
in  action,  she  expressed  herself  in  repose 
and  control,  and  by  the  love-light  in  her 
eyes  —  though  this  latter  she  would  have 
suppressed  in  all  maiden  modesty  had  she 
been  conscious  of  the  speech  her  heart 
printed  so  plainly  there.  "  Dear "  and 
"darling'*  were  too  terribly  intimate  for 
them  to  achieve  quickly  ;  and,  unlike  most 
mating  couples,  they  did  not  overwork  the 
love-words.  For  a  long  time  they  were 
content  to  walk  together  in  the  evenings, 
or  to  sit  side  by  side  on  a  bench  in  the 
park,  neither  uttering  a  word  for  an  hour 
at  a  time,  merely  gazing  into  each  other's 
eyes,  too  faintly  luminous  in  the  starshine 


64  THE   GAME 

to    be    a    cause    for    self-consciousness    and 
embarrassment. 

He  was  as  chivalrous  and  delicate  in  his 
attention  as  any  knight  to  his  lady.  When 
they  walked  along  the  street,  he  was  care 
ful  to  be  on  the  outside,  —  somewhere  he 
had  heard  that  this  was  the  proper  thing 
to  do,  —  and  when  a  crossing  to  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  street  put  him  on  the 
inside,  he  swiftly  side-stepped  behind  her 
to  gain  the  outside  again.  He  carried  her 
parcels  for  her,  and  once,  when  rain  threat 
ened,  her  umbrella.  He  had  never  heard 
of  the  custom  of  sending  flowers  to  one's 
lady-love,  so  he  sent  Genevieve  fruit  in 
stead.  There  was  utility  in  fruit.  It  was 
good  to  eat.  Flowers  never  entered  his 
mind,  until,  one  day,  he  noticed  a  pale 
rose  in  her  hair.  It  drew  his  gaze  again 
and  again.  It  was  her  hair,  therefore  the 


THE   GAME  65 

presence  of  the  flower  interested  him.  Again, 
it  interested  him  because  she  had  chosen  to 
put  it  there.  For  these  reasons  he  was  led 
to  observe  the  rose  more  closely.  He  dis 
covered  that  the  effect  in  itself  was  beauti 
ful,  and  it  fascinated  him.  His  ingenuous 
delight  in  it  was  a  delight  to  her,  and  a 
new  and  mutual  love-thrill  was  theirs  — 
because  of  a  flower.  Straightway  he  be 
came  a  lover  of  flowers.  Also,  he  became 
an  inventor  in  gallantry.  He  sent  her  a 
bunch  of  violets.  The  idea  was  his  own. 
He  had  never  heard  of  a  man  sending 
flowers  to  a  woman.  Flowers  were  used 
for  decorative  purposes,  also  for  funerals. 
He  sent  Genevieve  flowers  nearly  every 
day,  and  so  far  as  he  was  concerned  the 
idea  was  original,  as  positive  an  invention 
as  ever  arose  in  the  mind  of  man. 

He  was  tremulous  in  his  devotion  to  her 


66  THE   GAME 

—  as  tremulous  as  was  she  in  her  reception 
of  him.  She  was  all  that  was  pure  and 
good,  a  holy  of  holies  not  lightly  to  be 
profaned  even  by  what  might  possibly  be 
the  too  ardent  reverence  of  a  devotee.  She 
was  a  being  wholly  different  from  any  he 
had  ever  known.  She  was  not  as  other 
girls.  It  never  entered  his  head  that  she 
was  of  the  same  clay  as  his  own  sisters, 
or  anybody's  sister.  She  was  more  than 
mere  girl,  than  mere  woman.  She  was  — 
well,  she  was  Genevieve,  a  being  of  a  class 
by  herself,  nothing  less  than  a  miracle  of 
creation. 

And  for  her,  in  turn,  there  was  in  him 
but  little  less  of  illusion.  Her  judgment 
of  him  in  minor  things  might  be  critical 
(while  his  judgment  of  her  was  sheer  wor 
ship,  and  had  in  it  nothing  critical  at  all); 
but  in  her  judgment  of  him  as  a  whole 


THE   GAME  67 

she  forgot  the  sum  of  the  parts,  and  knew 
him  only  as  a  creature  of  wonder,  who 
gave  meaning  to  life,  and  for  whom  she 
could  die  as  willingly  as  she  could  live. 
She  often  beguiled  her  waking  dreams  of 
him  with  fancied  situations,  wherein,  dying 
for  him,  she  at  last  adequately  expressed 
the  love  she  felt  for  him,  and  which,  living, 
she  knew  she  could  never  fully  express. 

Their  love  was  all  fire  and  dew.  The 
physical  scarcely  entered  into  it,  for  such 
seemed  profanation.  The  ultimate  physical 
facts  of  their  relation  were  something  which 
they  never  considered.  Yet  the  immediate 
physical  facts  they  knew,  the  immediate 
yearnings  and  raptures  of  the  flesh  —  the 
touch  of  finger  tips  on  hand  or  arm,  the 
momentary  pressure  of  a  hand-clasp,  the  rare 
lip-caress  of  a  kiss,  the  tingling  thrill  of  her 
hair  upon  his  cheek,  of  her  hand  lightly 


68  THE   GAME 

thrusting  back  the  locks  from  above  his 
eyes.  All  this  they  knew,  but  also,  and 
they  knew  not  why,  there  seemed  a  hint 
of  sin  about  these  caresses  and  sweet  bodily 
contacts. 

There  were  times  when  she  felt  impelled 
to  throw  her  arms  around  him  in  a  very 
abandonment  of  love,  but  always  some 
sanctity  restrained  her.  At  such  moments 
she  was  distinctly  and  unpleasantly  aware 
of  some  unguessed  sin  that  lurked  within 
her.  It  was  wrong,  undoubtedly  wrong, 
that  she  should  wish  to  caress  her  lover  in 
so  unbecoming  a  fashion.  No  self-respect 
ing  girl  could  dream  of  doing  such  a  thing. 
It  was  unwomanly.  Besides,  if  she  had 
done  it,  what  would  he  have  thought  of  it  ? 
And  while  she  contemplated  so  horrible  a 
catastrophe,  she  seemed  to  shrivel  and  wilt 
in  a  furnace  of  secret  shame. 


THE   GAME  69 

Nor  did  Joe  escape  the  prick  of  curious 
desires,  chiefest  among  which,  perhaps,  was 
the  desire  to  hurt  Genevieve.  When,  after 
long  and  tortuous  degrees,  he  had  achieved 
the  bliss  of  putting  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  he  felt  spasmodic  impulses  to  make 
the  embrace  crushing,  till  she  should  cry  out 
with  the  hurt.  It  was  not  his  nature  to 
wish  to  hurt  any  living  thing.  Even  in 
the  ring,  to  hurt  was  never  the  intention 
of  any  blow  he  struck.  In  such  case  he 
played  the  Game,  and  the  goal  of  the  Game 
was  to  down  an  antagonist  and  keep  that 
antagonist  down  for  a  space  of  ten  seconds. 
So  he  never  struck  merely  to  hurt;  the 
hurt  was  incidental  to  the  end,  and  the  end 
was  quite  another  matter.  And  yet  here, 
with  this  girl  he  loved,  came  the  desire  to 
hurt.  Why,  when  with  thumb  and  fore 
finger  he  had  ringed  her  wrist,  he  should 


7o  THE   GAME 

desire  to  contract  that  ring  till  it  crushed, 
was  beyond  him.  He  could  not  under 
stand,  and  felt  that  he  was  discovering 
depths  of  brutality  in  his  nature  of  which 
he  had  never  dreamed. 

Once,  on  parting,  he  threw  his  arms 
around  her  and  swiftly  drew  her  against 
him.  Her  gasping  cry  of  surprise  and  pain 
brought  him  to  his  senses  and  left  him  there 
very  much  embarrassed  and  still  trembling 
with  a  vague  and  nameless  delight.  And 
she,  too,  was  trembling.  In  the  hurt  itself, 
which  was  the  essence  of  the  vigorous  em 
brace,  she  had  found  delight ;  and  again  she 
knew  sin,  though  she  knew  not  its  nature 
nor  why  it  should  be  sin. 

Came  the  day,  very  early  in  their  walk 
ing  out,  when  Silverstein  chanced  upon 
Joe  in  his  store  and  stared  at  him  with 
saucer-eyes.  Came  likewise  the  scene, 


THE   GAME  71 

after  Joe  had  departed,  when  the  maternal 
feelings  of  Mrs.  Silverstein  found  vent  in 
a  diatribe  against  all  prize 
fighters  and  against  Joe 
Fleming  in  particular. 
Vainly  had  Silverstein 
striven  to  stay  his 
spouse's  wrath.  There 
was  need  for  her 
wrath.  All  the  mater 
nal  feelings  were  hers,  but 
none  of  the  maternal  rights. 

Genevieve  was  aware  only  of  the  dia 
tribe;  she  knew  a  flood  of  abuse  was 
pouring  from  the  lips  of  the  Jewess,  but 
she  was  too  stunned  to  hear  the  details  of 
the  abuse.  Joe,  her  *Joe,  was  Joe  Fleming 
the  prize-fighter.  It  was  abhorrent,  impos 
sible,  too  grotesque  to  be  believable.  Her 
clear-eyed,  girl-cheeked  Joe  might  be  any- 


72  THE  GAME  , 

thing  but  a  prize-fighter.  She  had  never 
seen  one,  but  he  in  no  way  resembled  her 
conception  of  what  a  prize-fighter  must  be 
—  the  human  brute  with  tiger  eyes  and  a 
streak  for  a  forehead.  Of  course  she  had 
heard  of  Joe  Fleming  —  who  in  West 
Oakland  had  not  ?  —  but  that  there  should 
be  anything  more  than  a  coincidence  of 
names  had  never  crossed  her  mind. 

She  came  out  of  her  daze  to  hear  Mrs. 
Silverstein's  hysterical  sneer,  "keepin' 
company  vit  a  bruiser."  Next,  Silverstein 
and  his  wife  fell  to  differing  on  "  noted " 
and  "  notorious "  as  applicable  to  her 
lover. 

"  But  he  iss  a  good  boy,"  Silverstein 
was  contending.  "  He  make  der  money, 
an'  he  safe  der  money." 

"  You  tell  me  dat ! "  Mrs.  Silverstein 
screamed.  "Vat  you  know?  You  know 


THE   GAME 


73 


too  much.  You  spend  good  money  on 
der  prize-fighters.  How  you  know?  Tell 
me  dat !  How  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  know  vat  I  know," 
Silverstein  held  on  sturdily 
—  a  thing  Gene- 
vieve  had  never 
before  seen 
him  do  when 
his  wife  was  in 
the  tantrums. 
"His  fader  die, 
he  go  to  work 
in  Hansen's 
sail  -  loft.  He 
haf  six  brudders  an*  sisters  younger  as  he 
iss.  He  iss  der  liddle  fader.  He  vork  hard, 
all  der  time.  He  buy  der  pread  an'  der 
meat,  an'  pay  der  rent.  On  Saturday  night 
he  bring  home  ten  dollar.  Den  Hansen 


74 


THE   GAME 


gif  him   twelve   dollar   y%  —  vat   he    do  ? 

He  iss  der  liddle  fader,  \~l)  he     bring     it 

home  to  der  mudder.      j  He  vork  all  der 

time,    he    get    twenty     |  dollar  —  vat  he 


do  ?  He  bring  it  home.  Der  liddle  brud- 
ders  an*  sisters  go  to  school,  vear  good 
clothes,  haf  better  pread  an'  meat;  der 
mudder  lif  fat,  dere  iss  joy  in  der  eye,  an* 
she  iss  proud  for  her  good  boy  Joe. 


THE   GAME  75 

"But  he  haf  der  peautiful  body  —  ach, 
Gott,  der  peautiful  body  !  —  stronger  as  der 
ox,  k-vicker  as  der  tiger-cat,  der  head  cooler 
as  der  ice-box,  der  eyes  vat  see  eferytings, 
k-vick,  just  like  dat.  He  put  on  der  gloves 
vit  der  boys  at  Hansen's  loft,  he  put  on 
der  gloves  vit  der  boys  at  der  varehouse. 
He  go  before  der  club  ;  he  knock  out  der 
Spider,  k-vick,  one  punch,  just  like  dat, 
der  first  time.  Der  purse  iss  five  dollar  — 
vat  he  do  ?  He  bring  it  home  to  der 
mudder. 

"He  go  many  times  before  der  clubs ; 
he  get  many  purses  —  ten  dollar,  fifty  dollar, 
one  hundred  dollar.  Vat  he  do?  Tell 
me  dat !  Quit  der  job  at  Hansen's  ?  Haf 
der  good  time  vit  der  boys  ?  No,  no ;  he 
iss  der  good  boy.  He  vork  efery  day. 
He  fight  at  night  before  der  clubs.  He 
say,  f  Vat  for  I  pay  der  rent,  Silverstein  ? '  — 


76 


THE   GAME 


to  me,  Silverstein,  he  say  dat.  Nefer  mind 
vat  I  say,  but  he  buy  der  good  house  for 
der  mudder.  All  der  time  he  vork  at  Han- 


sen's  and  fight  before  der  clubs  to  pay  for 
der  house.  He  buy  der  piano  for  der  sis 
ters,  der  carpets,  der  pictures  on  der  vail. 
An'  he  iss  all  der  time  straight.  He  bet 


THE   GAME  77 

on  himself — dat  iss  der  good  sign.  Ven 
der  man  bets  on  himself  dat  is  der  time  you 
bet  too  —  " 

Here  Mrs.  Silverstein  groaned  her  horror 
of  gambling,  and  her  husband,  aware  that 
his  eloquence  had  betrayed  him,  collapsed 
into  voluble  assurances  that  he  was  ahead  of 
the  game.  cc  An*  all  because  of  Joe  Flem 
ing/'  he  concluded.  "  I  back  him  efery 
time  to  vin." 

But  Genevieve  and  Joe  were  preeminently 
mated,  and  nothing,  not  even  this  terrible 
discovery,  could  keep  them  apart.  In  vain 
Genevieve  tried  to  steel  herself  against  him  ; 
but  she  fought  herself,  not  him.  To  her 
surprise  she  discovered  a  thousand  excuses 
for  him,  found  him  lovable  as  ever ;  and  she 
entered  into  his  life  to  be  his  destiny,  and  to 
control  him  after  the  way  of  women.  She 
saw  his  future  and  hers  through  glowing 


78  THE   GAME 

vistas  of  reform,  and  her  first  great  deed  was 
when  she  wrung  from  him  his  promise  to 
cease  fighting. 

And  he,  after  the  way  of  men,  pursuing 
the  drearn  of  love  and  striving  for  posses 
sion  of  the  precious  and  deathless  object 
of  desire,  had  yielded.  And  yet,  in  the 
very  moment  of  promising  her,  he  knew 
vaguely,  deep  down,  that  he  could  never 
abandon  the  Game ;  that  somewhere,  some 
time,  in  the  future,  he  must  go  back  to  it. 
And  he  had  had  a  swift  vision  of  his  mother 
and  brothers  and  sisters,  their  multitudinous 
wants,  the  house  with  its  painting  and 
repairing,  its  street  assessments  and  taxes, 
and  of  the  coming  of  children  to  him  and 
Genevieve,  and  of  his  own  daily  wage  in 
the  sail-making  loft.  But  the  next  moment 
the  vision  was  dismissed,  as  such  warnings 
are  always  dismissed,  and  he  saw  before  him 


THE   GAME  79 

only  Genevieve,  and  he  knew  only  his 
hunger  for  her  and  the  call  of  his  being  to 
her;  and  he  accepted  calmly  her  calm 
assumption  of  his  life  and  actions. 

He  was  twenty,  she  eighteen,  boy  and 
girl,  the  pair  of  them,  and  made  for  prog 
eny,  healthy  and  normal,  with  steady  blood 
pounding  through  their  bodies ;  and  wher 
ever  they  went  together,  even  on  Sunday 
outings  across  the  bay  amongst  people  who 
did  not  know  him,  eyes  were  continually 
drawn  to  them.  He  matched  her  girl's 
beauty  with  his  boy's  beauty,  her  grace  with 
his  strength,  her  delicacy  of  line  and  fibre 
with  the  harsher  vigor  and  muscle  of  the 
male.  Frank-faced,  fresh-colored,  almost 
ingenuous  in  expression,  eyes  blue  and 
wide  apart,  he  drew  and  held  the  gaze  of 
more  than  one  woman  far  above  him  in  the 
social  scale.  Of  such  glances  and  dim 


8o 


THE   GAME 


maternal  promptings    he  w.as    quite   uncon 
scious,  though  Genevieve  was  quick  to  see 


and  understand ;  and  she  knew  each  time 
the  pang  of  a  fierce  joy  in  that  he  was  hers 
and  that  she  held  him  in  the  hollow  of  her 


THE   GAME  81 

hand.  Fie  did  see,  however,  and  rather 
resented,  the  men's  glances  drawn  by  her. 
These,  too,  she  saw  and  understood  as  he 
did  not  dream  of  understanding. 


CHAPTER   III 


CHAPTER   III 

GENEVIEVE  slipped  on  a  pair  of  Joe's 
shoes,  light-soled  and  dapper,  and  laughed 
with  Lottie,  who  stooped  to  turn  up  the 
trousers  for  her.  Lottie  was  his  sister, 
and  in  the  secret.  To  her  was  due  the 
inveigling  of  his  mother  into  making  a 
neighborhood  call  so  that  they  could  have 
the  house  to  themselves.  They  went 
down  into  the  kitchen  where  Joe  was  wait 
ing.  His  face  brightened  as  he  came  to 
meet  her,  love  shining  frankly  forth. 
87 


88 


THE   GAME 


"  Now  get  up  those  skirts,  Lottie,"    he 
commanded.     "  Haven't  any  time  to  waste. 

There,  that'll  do. 
You  see,  you  only 
want  the  bottoms 
of  the  pants  to 
show.  The  coat 
will  cover  the  rest. 
Now  let's  see  how 
it'll  fit. 

"Borrowed  it 
from  Chris ;  he's  a 
dead  sporty  sport 
—  little,  but  oh, 
my  !  "  he  went  on, 
helping  Genevieve  into  an  overcoat  which 
fell  to  her  heels  and  which  fitted  her  as  a 
tailor-made  overcoat  should  fit  the  man  for 
whom  it  is  made. 

Joe  put  a  cap  on  her  head  and  turned  up 


THE  GAME 


89 


the  collar,  which  was  generous  to  exaggera 
tion,  meeting  the  cap  and  completely  hiding 
her  hair.  When  he  buttoned  the  collar  in 
front,  its  points  served  to  cover  the  cheeks, 
chin  and  mouth  were  buried  in  its  depths, 
and  a  close  scrutiny  revealed  only  shadowy 
eyes  and  a  little  less  shadowy  nose.  She 
walked  across  the  room,  the 
bottoms  of  the  trousers  just 
showing  as  the  hang  of  the 
coat  was  disturbed  by  move 
ment. 

"  A  sport  with  a  cold  and 
afraid  of  catching  more,  all 
right  all  right,"  the  boy 
laughed,  proudly  surveying 
his  handiwork.  cc  How  much 
money  you  got  ?  I'm  layin' 
ten  to  six.  Will  you  take 
the  short  end  ? " 


9o 


THE   GAME 


"  Who's  short  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Ponta,  of  course,"    Lottie  blurted    out 
her    hurt,    as    though   there    could    be    any 
question  of  it  even  for  an  instant. 

"  Of  course/*  Gene- 
vieve  said  sweetly,  "  only 
I  don't  know  much 
about  such  things." 

This  time  Lottie  kept 
her  lips  together,  but  the 
new  hurt  showed  on  her  face.  Joe 
looked  at  his  watch  and  said  it  was  time  to 
go.  His  sister's  arms  went  about  his  neck, 
and  she  kissed  him  soundly  on  the  lips. 
She  kissed  Genevieve,  too,  and  saw  them,  to 
the  gate,  one  arm  of  her  brother  about  her 
waist. 

"  What  does  ten  to  six  mean  ?  "  Gene 
vieve  asked,  the  while  their  footfalls  rang 
out  on  the  frosty  air. 


THE   GAME  91 

"That  I'm  the  long  end,  the  favorite," 
he  answered.  "  That  a  man  bets  ten  dol 
lars  at  the  ring  side  that  I  win  against  six 
dollars  another  man  is  betting  that  I  lose." 

"  But  if  you're  the 
favorite  and  every 
body  thinks  you'll 
win,  how  does  any 
body  bet  against 
you  ?  " 

"That's  what 
makes  prize-fighting 
—  difference  of  opin 
ion,"  he  laughed.  "  Besides,  there's  always 
the  chance  of  a  lucky  punch,  an  accident. 
Lots  of  chance,"  he  said  gravely. 

She  shrank  against  him,  clingingly  and 
protectingly,  and  he  laughed  with  surety. 

"You  wait,  and  you'll  see.  An'  don't 
get  scared  at  the  start.  The  first  few 


92  THE   GAME 

rounds'll  be  something  fierce.  That's 
Ponta's  strong  point.  He's  a  wild  man, 
with  all  kinds  of  punches,  —  a  whirlwind, — 
and  he  gets  his  man  in  the  first  rounds. 
He's  put  away  a  whole  lot  of  cleverer  and 
better  men  than  him.  It's  up  to  me  to  live 
through  it,  that's  all.  Then  he'll  be  all  in. 
Then  I  go  after  him,  just  watch.  You'll 
know  when  I  go  after  him,  an'  I'll  get'm, 
too." 

They  came  to  the  hall,  on  a  dark  street- 
corner,  ostensibly  the  quarters  of  an  athletic 
club,  but  in  reality  an  institution  designed 
for  pulling  off  fights  and  keeping  within  the 
police  ordinance.  Joe  drew  away  from  her, 
and  they  walked  apart  to  the  entrance. 

cc  Keep  your  hands  in  your  pockets 
whatever  you  do,"  Joe  warned  her,  "  and 
it'll  be  all  right.  Only  a  couple  of  minutes 
of  it." 


THE   GAME 


93 


"He's  with  me," 
Joe  said  to  the  door 
keeper,  who  was  talk 
ing  with  a  policeman. 

Both  men  greeted 
him  familiarly,  taking 
no  notice  of  his  com 
panion. 

"  They  never  tum 
bled;  nobody*!!  tum 
ble,"  Joe  assured  her, 
as  they  climbed  the 
stairs  to  the  second 
story.  "  And  even  if  they  did,  they  wouldn't 
know  who  it  was  and  they'd  keep  it  mum 
for  me.  Here,  come  in  here  ! " 

He  whisked  her  into  a  little  office-like 
room  and  left  her  seated  on  a  dusty,  broken- 
bottomed  chair.  A  few  minutes  later  he 
was  back  again,  clad  in  a  long  bath  robe, 


94  THE   GAME 

canvas  shoes  on  his  feet.  She  began  to 
tremble  against  him,  and  his  arm  passed 
gently  around  her. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  Genevieve,"  he  said 
encouragingly.  "  I've  got  it  all  fixed. 
Nobody'll  tumble." 

"  It's  you,  Joe,"  she  said.  "  I  don't  care 
for  myself.  It's  you." 

"  Don't  care  for  yourself !  But  that's 
what  I  thought  you  was  afraid  of!" 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  the 
wonder  of  woman  bursting  upon  him  in 
a  more  transcendent  glory  than  ever,  and 
he  had  seen  much  of  the  wonder  of  woman 
in  Genevieve.  He  was  speechless  for  a 
moment,  and  then  stammered  :  — 

"  You  mean  me  ?  And  you  don't  care 
what  people  think  ?  or  anything  ?  —  or 
anything  ?  " 

A  sharp  double  knock    at  the   door,  and 


He  left  her  seated  on  a  dusty,  broken-bottomed  chair." 


THE    GAME  97 

a  sharper  "  Get  a  move  on  yerself,  you 
Joe ! "  brought  him  back  to  immediate 
things. 

cc  Quick,  one  last  kiss,  Genevieve,"  he 
whispered,  almost  holily.  "  It's  my  last 
fight,  an'  Til  fight  as  never  before  with  you 
lookin'  at  me." 

The  next  she  knew,  the  pressure  of  his 
lips  yet  warm  on  hers,  she  was  in  a  group 
of  jostling  young  fellows,  none  of  whom 
seemed  to  take  the  slightest  notice  of  her. 
Several  had  their  coats  off  and  their  shirt 
sleeves  rolled  up.  They  entered  the  hall 
from  the  rear,  still  keeping  the  casual 
formation  of  the  group,  and  moved  slowly 
up  a  side  aisle. 

It  was  a  crowded,  ill-lighted  hall,  barn- 
like  in  its  proportions,  and  the  smoke- 
laden  air  gave  a  geculiar  distortion  to 
everything.  She  felt  as  though  she  would 


98 


THE   GAME 


stifle.  There  were  shrill  cries  of  boys  sell 
ing  programmes  and  soda  water,  and  there 
was  a  great  bass  rum 
ble  of  masculine  voices. 
She  heard  a  voice  offer 
ing  ten  to  six  on  Joe 
Fleming.  The  utter 
ance  was  monotonous 
— hopeless,  it  seemed 
/  Jj?\,  \  to  her,  and  she  felt  a 

quick  thrill.  It  was 
her  Joe  against  whom 
everybody  was  afraid  to 
bet. 

And  she  felt  other  thrills.  Her  blood 
was  touched,  as  by  fire,  with  romance,  ad 
venture  —  the  unknown,  the  mysterious, 
the  terrible  —  as  she  penetrated  this  haunt 
of  men  where  women  came  not.  And  there 
were  other  thrills.  It  was  the  only  time  in 


THE   GAME 


99 


her  life  she  had  dared  the  rash  thing.  For 
the  first  time  she  was  overstepping  the 
bounds  laid  down  by  that  harshest  of 
tyrants,  the  Mrs.  Grundy  of  the  working 
class.  She  felt  fear,  and  for 
herself,  though  the  moment 
before  she  had  been  think 
ing  only  of  Joe. 

Before  she  knew  it,  the 
front  of  the  hall  had  been 
reached,  and  she  had  gone 
up  half  a  dozen  steps  into  a 
small  dressing-room.  This 
was  crowded  to  suffocation 
—  by  men  who  played  the 
Game,  she  concluded,  in 
one  capacity  or  another. 
And  here  she  lost  Joe.  But 
before  the  real  personal  fright  could  soundly 
clutch  her,  one  of  the  young  fellows  said 


ioo  THE   GAME 

gruffly,  "Come  along  with  me,  you,"  and 
as  she  wedged  out  at  his  heels  she  noticed 
that  another  one  of  the  escort  was  follow 
ing  her. 

They  came  upon  a  sort  of  stage,  which 
accommodated  three  rows  of  men;  and 
she  caught  her  first  glimpse  of  the  squared 
ring.  She  was  on  a  level  with  it,  and 
so  near  that  she  could  have  reached  out 
and  touched  its  ropes.  She  noticed  that 
it  was  covered  with  padded  canvas.  Be 
yond  the  ring,  and  on  either  side,  as  in  a 
fog,  she  could  see  the  crowded  house. 

The  dressing-room  she  had  left  abutted 
upon  one  corner  of  the  ring.  Squeezing 
her  way  after  her  guide  through  the  seated 
men,  she  crossed  the  end  of  the  hall  and 
entered  a  similar  dressing-room  at  the 
other  corner  of  the  ring. 

"  Now   don't   make   no    noise,   and  stay 


THE   GAME  101 


.er 


here  till    I  come  for   you,"    instructed   h 
guide,  pointing    out    a    peep-hole  arrange 
ment  in  the  wall  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  IV 


or  THE 
UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CHAPTER   IV 

SHE  hurried  to  the  peep-hole,  and  found 
herself  against  the  ring.  She  could  see  the 
whole  of  it,  though  part  of  the  audience  was 
shut  off.  The  ring  was  well  lighted  by  an 
overhead  cluster  of  patent  gas-burners. 
The  front  row  of  the  men 'she  had  squeezed 
past,  because  of  their  paper  and  pencils,  she 
decided  to  be  reporters  from  the  local 
papers  up-town.  One  of  them  was  chew 
ing  gum.  Behind  them,  on  the  other  two 
rows  of  seats,  she  could  make  out  firemen 
107 


io8  THE   GAME 

from  the  near-by  engine-house  and  several 
policemen  in  uniform.  In  the  middle  of 
the  front  row,  flanked  by  the  reporters,  sat 
the  young  chief  of  police.  She  was  startled 
by  catching  sight  of  Mr.  Clausen  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  ring.  There  he  sat, 
austere,  side-whiskered,  pink  and  white, 
close  up  against  the  front  of  the  ring. 
Several  seats  farther  on,  in  the  same  front 
row,  she  discovered  Silverstein,  his  weazen 
features  glowing  with  anticipation. 

A  few  cheers  heralded  the  advent  of 
several  young  fellows,  in  shirt-sleeves, 
carrying  buckets,  bottles,  and  towels,  who 
crawled  through  the  ropes  and  crossed  to 
the  diagonal  corner  from  her.  One  of  them 
sat  down  on  a  stool  and  leaned  back 
against  the  ropes.  She  saw  that  he  was 
bare-legged,  with  canvas  shoes  on  his  feet, 
and  that  his  body  was  swathed  in  a  heavy 


THE   GAME  109 

white  sweater.  In  the  meantime  another 
group  had  occupied  the  corner  directly 
against  her.  Louder  cheers  drew  her 


attention  to  it,  and  she  saw  Joe  seated  on 
a  stool,  still  clad  in  the  bath  robe,  his 
short  chestnut  curls  within  a  yard  of  her 
eyes. 


no 


THE   GAME 


A  young  man,  in  a  black  suit,  with  a 
mop  of  hair  and  a  preposterously  tall 
starched  collar,  walked  to  the  centre  of  the 
ring  and  held  up  his  hand. 
"  Gentlemen  will  please 
stop  smoking/'  he  said. 
His  effort  was  ap 
plauded  by  groans  and 
cat-calls,  and  she  noticed 
with  indignation  that  no 
body  stopped  smoking. 
Mr.  Clausen  held  a  burn 
ing  match  in  his  fingers 
while  the  announcement 
was  being  made,  and  then 
calmly  lighted  his  cigar. 
She  felt  that  she  hated  him  in  that  moment. 
How  was  her  Joe  to  fight  in  such  an  atmos 
phere  ?  She  could  scarcely  breathe  herself, 
and  she  was  only  sitting  down. 


THE   GAME  in 

The  announcer  came  over  to  Joe.  He 
stood  up.  His  bath  robe  fell  away  from 
him,  and  he  stepped  forth  to  the  centre  of 
the  ring,  naked  save  for  the  low  canvas  shoes 
and  a  narrow  hip-cloth  of  white.  Gene- 
vieve's  eyes  dropped.  She  sat  alone,  with 
none  to  see,  but  her  face  was  burning  with 
shame  at  sight  of  the  beautiful  nakedness 
of  her  lover.  But  she  looked  again, 
guiltily,  for  the  joy  that  was  hers  in  be 
holding  what  she  knew  must  be  sinful  to 
behold.  The  leap  of  something  within 
her  and  the  stir  of  her  being  toward  him 
must  be  sinful.  But  it  was  delicious  sin, 
and  she  did  not  deny  her  eyes.  In  vain 
Mrs.  Grundy  admonished  her.  The  pagan 
in  her,  original  sin,  and  all  nature  urged 
her  on.  The  mothers  of  all  the  past  were 
whispering  through  her,  and  there  was  a 
clamor  of  the  children  unborn.  But  of 


ii2  THE   GAME 

this  she  knew  nothing.  She  knew  only 
that  it  was  sin,  and  she  lifted  her  head 
proudly,  recklessly  resolved,  in  one  great 
surge  of  revolt,  to  sin  to  the  utter 
most. 

She  had  never  dreamed  of  the  form  under 
the  clothes.  The  form,  beyond  the  hands 
and  the  face,  had  no  part  in  her  mental 
processes.  A  child  of  garmented  civiliza 
tion,  the  garment  was  to  her  the  form. 
The  race  of  men  was  to  her  a  race  of  gar 
mented  bipeds,  with  hands  and  faces  and 
hair-covered  heads.  When  she  thought 
of  Joe,  the  Joe  instantly  visualized  on  her 
mind  was  a  clothed  Joe  —  girl-cheeked, 
blue-eyed,  curly-headed,  but  clothed.  And 
there  he  stood,  all  but  naked,  godlike,  in 
a  white  blaze  of  light.  She  had  never  con 
ceived  of  the  form  of  God  except  as  nebu 
lously  naked,  and  the  thought-association 


THE   GAME 


was  startling.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  her  sin  partook 
of  sacrilege  or  blasphemy. 
Her  chromo-trained  aes 
thetic  sense  exceeded  its 
education  and  told  her  that 
here  were  beauty  and  won 
der.  She  had  always  liked 
the  physical  presentment  of 
Joe,  but  it  was  a  present 
ment  of  clothes,  and  she 
had  thought  the  pleasingness 
of  it  due  to  the  neatness  and 
taste  with  which  he  dressed. 
She  had  never  dreamed  that  this 
lurked  beneath.  It  dazzled  her.  His  skin 
was  fair  as  a  woman's,  far  more  satiny,  and 
no  rudimentary  hair-growth  marred  its  white 
lustre.  This  she  perceived,  but  all  the 
rest,  the  perfection  of  line  and  strength 


ii4  THE   GAME 

and  development,  gave  pleasure  without  her 
knowing  why.  There  was  a  cleanness  and 
grace  about  it.  His  face  was  like  a  cameo, 
and  his  lips,  parted  in  a  smile,  made  it  very 
boyish. 

He  smiled  as  he  faced  the  audience, 
when  the  announcer,  placing  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  said:  "Joe  Fleming,  the  Pride 
of  West  Oakland." 

Cheers  and  hand-clappings  stormed  up, 
and  she  heard  affectionate  cries  of  "  Oh, 
you,  Joe ! "  Men  shouted  it  at  him  again 
and  again. 

He  walked  back  to  his  corner.  Never 
to  her  did  he  seem  less  a  fighter  than  then. 
His  eyes  were  too  mild;  there  was  not  a 
spark  of  the  beast  in  them,  nor  in  his  face, 
while  his  body  seemed  too  fragile,  what  of 
its  fairness  and  smoothness,  and  his  face 
too  boyish  and  sweet-tempered  and  intel- 


the  perfection  of  line  and  strength  and  development. 


THE   GAME 


117 


ligent.  She  did  not  have  the  expert's  eye 
for  the  depth  of  chest,  the  wide  nostrils, 
the  recuperative  lungs,  and  the  muscles 
under  their  satin  sheaths  —  crypts  of 
energy  wherein  lurked  the  chemistry  of 
destruction.  To  her  he  looked  like  a  some 
thing  of  Dresden  china,  to  be  handled 
gently  and  with  care,  liable  to  be  shattered 
to  fragments  by  the  first  rough  touch. 

John  Ponta,  stripped  of  his  white  sweater 
by  the  pulling  and  hauling  of  two  of  his 
seconds,  came  to  the 
centre  of  the  ring. 
She  knew  terror  as 
she  looked  at  him. 
Here  was  the  fighter 
— -the  beast  with  a 
streak  for  a  forehead, 
with  beady  eyes  under  lowering  and  bushy 
brows,  flat-nosed,  thick-lipped,  sullen- 


n8  THE   GAME 

mouthed.  He  was  heavy-jawed,  bull-necked, 
and  the  short,  straight  hair  of  the  head 
seemed  to  her  frightened  eyes  the  stiff  bris 
tles  on  a  hog's  back.  Here  were  coarseness 
and  brutishness  —  a  thing  savage,  primordial, 
ferocious.  He  was  swarthy  to  blackness, 
and  his  body  was  covered  with  a  hairy 
growth  that  matted  like  a  dog's  on  his 
chest  and  shoulders.  He  was  deep-chested, 
thick-legged,  large-muscled,  but  unshapely. 
His  muscles  were  knots,  and  he  was  gnarled 
and  knobby,  twisted  out  of  beauty  by  excess 
of  strength. 

"John  Ponta,  West  Bay  Athletic  Club," 
said  the  announcer. 

A  much  smaller  volume  of  cheers  greeted 
him.  It  was  evident  that  the  crowd  favored 
Joe  with  its  sympathy. 

"  Go  in  an'  eat  'm,  Ponta  !  Eat  'm  up  !  " 
a  voice  shouted  in  the  lull. 


THE   GAME  119 

This  was  received  by  scornful  cries  and 
groans.  He  did  not  like  it,  for  his  sullen 
mouth  twisted  into  a  half-snarl  as  he  went 
back  to  his  corner.  He  was  too  decided  an 
atavism  to  draw  the  crowd's  admiration. 
Instinctively  the  crowd  disliked  him.  He 
was  an  animal,  lacking  in  intelligence  and 
spirit,  a  menace  and  a  thing  of  fear,  as  the 
tiger  and  the  snake  are  menaces  and  things 
of  fear,  better  behind  the  bars  of  a  cage  than 
running  free  in  the  open. 

And  he  felt  that  the  crowd  had  no  relish 
for  him.  He  was  like  an  animal  in  the 
circle  of  its  enemies,  and  he  turned  and 
glared  at  them  with  malignant  eyes.  Little 
Silverstein,  shouting  out  Joe's  name  with 
high  glee,  shrank  away  from  Ponta's  gaze, 
shrivelled  as  in  fierce  heat,  the  sound  gur 
gling  and  dying  in  his  throat.  Genevieve 
saw  the  little  by-play,  and  as  Ponta's  eyes 


120 


THE   GAME 


slowly  swept  round  the  circle  of  their  hate 
and  met  hers,  she,  too,  shrivelled  and  shrank 
back.  The  next  moment  they  were  past, 
pausing  to  centre  long  on  Joe.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  Ponta  was  working  himself 

into    a  rage.     Joe  re 
turned  the  gaze  with 
mild    boy's    eyes,  but 
his  face  grew  serious. 
The   announcer  es 
corted  a  third  man  to 
the  centre  of  the  ring, 
a    genial-faced    young 
fellow  in  shirt-sleeves. 
:c  Eddy  Jones,  who  will  referee  this  con 
test,"  said  the  announcer. 

"  Oh,  you,  Eddy  !  "  men  shouted  in  the 
midst  of  the  applause,  and  it  was  apparent  to 
Genevieve  that  he,  too,  was  well  beloved. 
Both   men  were   being   helped   into   the 


THE   GAME  121 

gloves  by  their  seconds,  and  one  of  Ponta' s 
seconds  came  over  and  examined  the  gloves 
before  they  went  on  Joe's  hands.  The  ref 
eree  called  them  to  the  centre  of  the  ring. 
The  seconds  followed,  and  they  made  quite 
a  group,  Joe  and  Ponta  facing  each  other, 
the  referee  in  the  middle,  the  seconds  lean 
ing  with  hands  on  one  another's  shoulders, 
their  heads  craned  forward.  The  referee 
was  talking,  and  all  listened  attentively. 

The  group  broke  up.  Again  the  an 
nouncer  came  to  the  front. 

"  Joe  Fleming  fights  at  one  hundred  and 
twenty-eight,"  he  said ;  "  John  Ponta  at 
one  hundred  and  forty.  They  will  fight 
as  long  as  one  hand  is  free,  and  take  care 
of  themselves  in  the  break-away.  The 
audience  must  remember  that  a  decision 
must  be  given.  There  are  no  draws 
fought  before  this  clubo" 


122 


THE   GAME 


He  crawled  through  the  ropes  and 
dropped  from  the  ring  to  the  floor. 
There  was  a  scuttling  in  the  corners  as 
the  seconds  cleared  out  through  the  ropes, 
taking  with  them  the  stools  and  buckets. 
Only  remained  in  the  ring  the  two  fighters 
and  the  referee.  A  gong  sounded.  The 
two  men  advanced  rapidly  to  the  centre. 
Their  right  hands  extended 
and  for  a  fraction  of  an 
instant  met  in  a  per 
functory  shake.  Then 
Ponta  lashed  out, 
savagely,  right  and 
left,  and  Joe  escaped  by 
springing  back.  Like  a 
projectile,  Ponta  hurled 
himself  after  him  and  up 
on  him. 
The*"  fight  ii  was  on.  Genevieve  clutched 


THE   GAME  123 

one  hand  to  her  breast  and  watched.  She 
was  bewildered  by  the  swiftness  and  savag 
ery  of  Ponta's  assault,  and  by  the  multi 
tude  of  blows  he  struck.  She  felt  that 
Joe  was  surely  being  destroyed,  At  times 
she  could  not  see  his  face,  so  obscured 
was  it  by  the  flying  gloves.  But  she 
could  hear  the  resounding  blows,  and  with 
the  sound  of  each  blow  she  felt  a  sicken 
ing  sensation  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach. 
She  did  not  know  that  what  she  •  heard 
was  the  impact  of  glove  on  glove,  or  glove 
on  shoulder,  and  that  no  damage  was  being 
done. 

She  was  suddenly  aware  that  a  change 
had  come  over  the  fight.  Both  men  were 
clutching  each  other  in  a  tense  embrace ; 
no  blows  were  being  struck  at  all.  She 
recognized  it  to  be  what  Joe  had  described 
to  her  as  the  "  clinch."  Ponta  was  strug- 


124 


THE   GAME 


gling  to  free  himself,  Joe  was  holding  on. 
The  referee  shouted,  "  Break  !  "  Joe  made 
an  effort  to  get  away,  but  Ponta  got  one 
hand  free  and  Joe 
rushed  back  into 
a  second  clinch  to 
escape  the  blow.  But 
this  time,  she  noticed, 
the  heel  of  his  glove 
was  pressed  against 
Ponta's  mouth  and 
chin,  and  at  the  sec 
ond  "Break!"  of 
the  referee,  Joe 
shoved  his  oppo 
nent's  head  back  and  sprang  clear  himself. 
For  a  brief  several  seconds  she  had  an 
unobstructed  view  of  her  lover.  Left  foot 
a  trifle  advanced,  knees  slightly  bent,  he 
was  crouching,  with  his  head  drawn  well 


THE   GAME  125 

down  between  his  shoulders  and  shielded 
by  them.  His  hands  were  in  position 
before  him,  ready  either  to  attack  or  de 
fend.  The  muscles  of  his  body  were  tense, 
and  as  he  moved  about  she  could  see 
them  bunch  up  and  writhe  and  crawl  like 
live  things  under  the  white  skin. 

But  again  Ponta  was  upon  him  and  he 
was  struggling  to  live.  He  crouched  a 
bit  more,  drew  his  body  more  compactly 
together,  and  covered  up  with  his  hands, 
elbows,  and  forearms.  Blows  rained  upon 
him,  and  it  looked  to  her  as  though  he 
were  being  beaten  to  death.  But  he  was 
receiving  the  blows  on  his  gloves  and 
shoulders,  rocking  back  and  forth  to  the 
force  of  them  like  a  tree  in  a  storm,  while 
the  house  cheered  its  delight.  It  was  not 
until  she  understood  this  applause,  and 
saw  Silverstein  half  out  of  his  seat  and 


126 


THE   GAME 


intensely,  madly  happy,  and  heard  the  "  Oh, 
you,  Joe's ! "  from  many  throats,  that  she 
realized  that  instead  of  being  cruelly  pun 
ished  he  was  acquitting  himself  well.  Then 
he  would  emerge  for  a  moment,  again  to  be 
enveloped  and  hidden  in  the  whirlwind 
of  Ponta's  ferocity. 


CHAPTER  V 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  gong  sounded.  It  seemed  they 
had  been  fighting  half  an  hour,  though 
from  what  Joe  had  told  her  she  knew  it 
had  been  only  three  minutes.  With  the 
crash  of  the  gong  Joe's  seconds  were 
through  the  ropes  and  running  him  into 
his  corner  for  the  blessed  minute  of  rest. 
One  man,  squatting  on  the  floor  between 
his  outstretched  feet  and  elevating  them 
by  resting  them  on  his  knees,  was  violently 
chafing  his  legs.  Joe  sat  on  the  stool, 


i32  THE   GAME 

leaning  far  back  into  the  corner,  head 
thrown  back  and  arms  outstretched  on  the 
ropes  to  give  easy  expansion  to  the  chest. 
With  wide-open  mouth  he  was  breathing 
the  towel-driven  air  furnished  by  two  of 
the  seconds,  while  listening  to  the  counsel 
of  still  another  second  who  talked  with 
low  voice  in  his  ear  and  at  the  same  time 
sponged  off  his  face,  shoulders,  and  chest. 

Hardly  had  all  this  been  accomplished 
(it  had  taken  no  more  than  several  seconds), 
when  the  gong  sounded,  the  seconds  scuttled 
through  the  ropes  with  their  paraphernalia, 
and  Joe  and  Ponta  were  advancing  against 
each  other  to  the  centre  of  the  ring.  Gene- 
vieve  had  no  idea  that  a  minute  could  be 
so  short.  For  a  moment  she  felt  that  his 
rest  had  been  cut,  and  was  suspicious  of  she 
knew  not  what. 

Ponta  lashed  out,  right  and  left,  savagely 


THE   GAME  133 

as  ever,  and  though  Joe  blocked  the  blows, 
such  was  the  force  of  them  that  he  was 
knocked  backward  several  steps.  Ponta 
was  after  him  with  the  spring  of  a  tiger. 
In  the  involuntary  effort  to  maintain  equilib 
rium,  Joe  had  uncovered  himself,  flinging 
one  arm  out  and  lifting  his  head  from  be 
tween  the  sheltering  shoulders.  So  swiftly 
had  Ponta  followed  him,  that  a  terrible 
swinging  blow  was  coming  at  his  unguarded 
jaw.  He  ducked  forward  and  down,  Ponta's 
fist  just  missing  the  back  of  his  head.  As 
he  came  back  to  the  perpendicular,  Ponta's 
left  fist  drove  at  him  in  a  straight  punch  that 
would  have  knocked  him  backward  through 
the  ropes.  Again,  and  with  a  swiftness  an 
inappreciable  fraction  of  time  quicker  than 
Ponta's,  he  ducked  forward.  Ponta's  fist 
grazed  the  backward  slope  of  the  shoulder, 
and  glanced  off  into  the  air.  Ponta's  right 


134 


THE   GAME 


drove  straight  out,  and  the  graze  was  re 
peated  as  Joe  ducked  into  the  safety  of  a 
clinch. 

Genevieve   sighed   with   relief,  her   tense 
body  relaxing  and  a  faintness  coming  over 

her.  The  crowd 
was     cheering 
madly.    Silverstein 
was    on    his    feet, 
shouting,  gesticu 


lating,  completely 
out  of  himself.  And 
even  Mr.  Clausen  rwas 
yelling  his  enthusiasm,  at 
the  top  of  his  lungs,  into  the  ear  of  his 
nearest  neighbor. 

The  clinch  was  broken  and  the  fight  went 
on.  Joe  blocked,  and  backed,  and  slid 
around  the  ring,  avoiding  blows  and  living 
somehow  through  the  whirlwind  onslaughts. 


THE   GAME  135 

Rarely  did  he  strike  blows  himself,  for 
Ponta  had  a  quick  eye  and  could  defend  as 
well  as  attack,  while  Joe  had  no  chance 
against  the  other's  enormous  vitality.  His 
hope  lay  in  that  Ponta  himself  should  ulti 
mately  consume  his  strength. 

But  Genevieve  was  beginning  to  wonder 
why  her  lover  did  not  fight.  She  grew 
angry.  She  wanted  to  see  him  wreak  ven 
geance  on  this  beast  that  persecuted  him  so. 
Even  as  she  waxed  impatient,  the  chance 
came,  and  Joe  whipped  his  fist  to  Ponta's 
mouth.  It  was  a  staggering  blow.  She 
saw  Ponta's  head  go  back  with  a  jerk  and 
the  quick  dye  of  blood  on  his  lips.  The 
blow,  and  the  great  shout  from  the  audience, 
angered  him.  He  rushed  like  a  wild  man. 
The  fury  of  his  previous  assaults  was  as 
nothing  compared  with  the  fury  of  this  one. 
And  there  was  no  more  opportunity  for  an- 


136 


THE   GAME 


other    blow.      Joe    was    too    busy    living 
through  the  storm   he   had  already  caused, 

blocking,  covering 
up,  and  ducking 
into   the    safety 
and    respite    of 
the  clinches. 

But  the  clinch 
was  not  all  safety 
and  respite.  Ev 
ery  instant  of  it 
was  tense  watch 
fulness,  while  the 
break-away  was 
still  more  dangerous.  Genevieve  had  no 
ticed,  with  a  slight  touch  of  amusement,  the 
curious  way  in  which  Joe  snuggled  his  body 
in  against  Ponta's  in  the  clinches;  but  she 
had  not  realized  why,  until,  in  one  such 
clinch,  before  the  snuggling  in  could  be 


THE   GAME  137 

effected,  Ponta's  fist  whipped  straight  up  in 
the  air  from  under,  and  missed  Joe's  chin 
by  a  hair's-breadth.  In  another  and  later 
clinch,  when  she  had  already  relaxed  and 
sighed  her  relief  at  seeing  him  safely  snug 
gled,  Ponta,  his  chin  over  Joe's  shoulder, 
lifted  his  right  arm  and  struck  a  terrible 
downward  blow  on  the  small  of  the  back. 
The  crowd  groaned  its  apprehension,  while 
Joe  quickly  locked  his  opponent's  arms  to 
prevent  a  repetition  of  the  blow. 

The  gong  struck,  and  after  the  fleeting 
minute  of  rest,  they  went  at  it  again — in 
Joe's  corner,  for  Ponta  had  made  a  rush  to 
meet  him  clear  across  the  ring.  Where  the 
blow  had  been  struck,  over  the  kidneys,  the 
white  skin  had  become  bright  red.  This 
splash  of  color,  the  size  of  the  glove,  fasci 
nated  and  frightened  Genevieve  so  that  she 
could  scarcely  take  her  eyes  from  it. 


138 


THE   GAME 


Promptly,  in  the  next  clinch,  the  blow  was 
repeated;  but  after  that  Joe  usually  man 
aged  to  give  Ponta  the  heel  of  the  glove 
on  the  mouth  and  so  hold  his  head  back. 
This  prevented  the  striking  of  the  blow; 
but  three  times  more,  before  the  round 
ended,  Ponta  effected  the  trick,  each 
time  striking  the  same 
vulnerable  part. 

Another  rest  and  an 
other  round  went 
by,  with  no  further 
\  damage  to  Joe 
and  no  diminu 
tion  of  strength 
on  the  part  of 
Ponta.  But  in 
the  beginning 
of  the  fifth  round,  Joe,  caught  in  a  corner, 
made  as  though  to  duck  into  a  clinch. 


THE   GAME  139 

Just  before  it  was  effected,  and  at  the  pre 
cise  moment  that  Ponta  was  ready  with  his 
own  body  to  receive  the  snuggling  in  of 
Joe's  body,  Joe  drew  back  slightly  and 
drove  with  his  fists  at  his  opponent's  un 
protected  stomach.  Lightning-like  blows 
they  were,  four  of  them,  right  and  left,  right 
and  left;  and  heavy  they  were,  for  Ponta 
winced  away  from  them  and  staggered  back, 
half  dropping  his  arms,  his  shoulders  droop 
ing  forward  and  in,  as  though  he  were  about 
to  double  in  at  the  waist  and  collapse. 
Joe's  quick  eye  saw  the  opening,  and  he 
smashed  straight  out  upon  Ponta's  mouth, 
following  instantly  with  a  half  swing,  half 
hook,  for  the  jaw.  It  missed,  striking  the 
cheek  instead,  and  sending  Ponta  stagger 
ing  sideways. 

The   house  was  on  its  feet,  shouting,  to 
a  man.     Genevieve  could  hear  men  crying, 


140  THE    GAME 

"  He's  got  'm,  he's  got  'm  !  "  and  it  seemed 
to  her  the  beginning  of  the  end.  She,  too, 
was  out  of  herself;  softness  and  tenderness 


~__ 

had  vanished ;  she  exulted  with  each  crush 
ing  blow  her  lover  delivered. 

But  Ponta's  vitality  was  yet  to  be  reck 
oned  with.  As,  like  a  tiger,  he  had  fol 
lowed  Joe  up,  Joe  now  followed  him  up. 


THE   GAME  141 

He  made  another  half  swing,  half  hook,  for 
Ponta's  jaw,  and  Ponta,  already  recovering 
his  wits  and  strength,  ducked  cleanly. 
Joe's  fist  passed  on  through  empty  air,  and 
so  great  was  the  momentum  of  the  blow 
that  it  carried  him  around,  in  a  half  twirl, 
sideways.  Then  Ponta  lashed  out  with  his 
left.  His  glove  landed  on  Joe's  unguarded 
neck.  Genevieve  saw  her  lover's  arms  drop 
to  his  sides  as  his  body  lifted,  went  back 
ward,  and  fell  limply  to  the  floor.  The 
referee,  bending  over  him,  began  to  count 
the  seconds,  emphasizing  the  passage  of  each 
second  with  a  downward  sweep  of  his  right 
arm. 

The  audience  was  still  as  death.  Ponta 
had  partly  turned  to  the  house  to  receive 
the  approval  that  was  his  due,  only  to  be 
met  by  this  chill,  graveyard  silence.  Quick 
wrath  surged  up  in  him.  It  was  unfair. 


142  THE   GAME 

His  opponent  only  was  applauded  —  if  he 
struck  a  blow,  if  he  escaped  a  blow;  he, 
Ponta,  who  had  forced  the  fighting  from  the 
start,  had  received  no  word  of  cheer. 

His  eyes  blazed  as  he  gathered  himself 
together  and  sprang  to  his  prostrate  foe. 
He  crouched  alongside  of  him,  right  arm 
drawn  back  and  ready  for  a  smashing  blow 
the  instant  Joe  should  start  to  rise.  The 
referee,  still  bending  over  and  counting  with 
his  right  hand,  shoved  Ponta  back  with  his 
left.  The  latter,  crouching,  circled  around, 
and  the  referee  circled  with  him,  thrusting 
him  back  and  keeping  between  him  and  the 
fallen  man. 

"  Four  —  five  —  six —  "  the  count  went 
on,  and  Joe,  rolling  over  on  his  face, 
squirmed  weakly  to  draw  himself  to  his 
knees.  This  he  succeeded  in  doing,  resting 
on  one  knee,  a  hand  to  the  floor  on  either 


THE   GAME 


side  and  the  other  leg  bent  under  him  to 
help  him  rise.  "  Take  the  count !  Take 
the  count ! "  a  dozen  voices  rang  out  from 
the  audience. 

"  For  God's  sake,  take  the  count !  "  one  of 
Joe's  seconds  cried  warningly  from  the  edge 
of  the  ring.  Genevieve  gave  him  one  swift 
glance,  and  saw  the  young  fellow's  face,  drawn 
and  white,  his  lips  unconsciously  moving 
as  he  kept  the  count  with  the  referee. 

"Seven  —  eight  — 
nine  — "    the    sec 
onds  went. 

The  ninth  sounded  and 
was  gone,  when  the  referee 
gave  Ponta  a  last  back 
ward  shove  and  Joe  came  to 
his  feet,  bunched  up,  covered  up,  weak,  but 
cool,  very  cool.  Ponta  hurled  himself  upon 
him  with  terrific  force,  delivering  an  upper- 


i44  THE   GAME 

cut  and  a  straight  punch.  But  Joe  blocked 
the  two,  ducked  a  third,  stepped  to  the 
side  to  avoid  a  fourth,  and  was  then  driven 
backward  into  a  corner  by  a  hurricane  of 
blows.  He  was  exceedingly  weak.  He 
tottered  as  he  kept  his  footing,  and  stag 
gered  back  and  forth.  His  back  was 
against  the  ropes.  There  was  no  further 
retreat.  Ponta  paused,  as  if  to  make 
doubly  sure,  then  feinted  with  his  left  and 
struck  fiercely  with  his  right  with  all  his 
strength.  But  Joe  ducked  into  a  clinch 
and  was  for  a  moment  saved. 

Ponta  struggled  frantically  to  free  himself. 
He  wanted  to  give  the  finish  to  this  foe 
already  so  far  gone.  But  Joe  was  holding 
on  for  life,  resisting  the  other's  every  effort, 
as  fast  as  one  hold  or  grip  was  torn  loose 
finding  a  new  one  by  which  to  cling. 
"  Break !  "  the  referee  commanded.  Joe 


THE   GAME 


held  on  tighter.  "  Make  'm  break !  Why 
the  hell  don't  you  make  'm  break  ?  "  Ponta 
panted  at  the  referee.  Again  the  latter  com 


manded  the  break.  Joe  refused,  keeping,  as 
he  well  knew,  within  his  rights.  Each  mo 
ment  of  the  clinch  his  strength  was  coming 
back  to  him,  his  brain  was  clearing,  the  cob- 


146  THE   GAME 

webs  were  disappearing  from  before  his  eyes. 
The  round  was  young,  and  he  must  live, 
somehow,  through  the  nearly  three  minutes 
of  it  yet  to  run. 

The  referee  clutched  each  by  the  shoulder 
and  sundered  them  violently,  passing  quickly 
between  them  as  he  thrust  them  back 
ward  in  order  to  make  a  clean  break  of  it. 
The  moment  he  was  free,  Ponta  sprang  at 
Joe  like  a  wild  animal  bearing  down  its  prey. 
But  Joe  covered  up,  blocked,  and  fell  into  a 
clinch.  Again  Ponta  struggled  to  get  free,  Joe 
held  on,  and  the  referee  thrust  them  apart. 
And  again  Joe  avoided  damage  and  clinched. 

Genevieve  realized  that  in  the  clinches  he 
was  not  being  beaten  —  why,  then,  did  not 
the  referee  let  him  hold  on  ?  It  was  cruel. 
She  hated  the  genial-faced  Eddy  Jones  in 
those  moments,  and  she  partly  rose  from 
her  chair,  her  hands  clenched  with  anger, 


THE    GAME  147 

the  nails  cutting  into  the  palms  till  they 
hurt.  The  rest  of  the  round,  the  three 
long  minutes  of  it,  was  a  succession  of 
clinches  and  breaks.  Not  once  did  Ponta 
succeed  in  striking  his  opponent  the  deadly 
final  blow.  And  Ponta  was  like  a  madman, 
raging  because  of  his  impotency  in  the  face 
of  his  helpless  and  all  but  vanquished  foe. 
One  blow,  only  one  blow,  and  he  could  not 
deliver  it !  Joe's  ring  experience  and  cool 
ness  saved  him.  With  shaken  conscious 
ness  and  trembling  body,  he  clutched  and 
held  on,  while  the  ebbing  life  turned  and 
flooded  up  in  him  again.  Once,  in  his 
passion,  unable  to  hit  him,  Ponta  made  as 
though  to  lift  him  up  and  hurl  him  to  the 
floor. 

"  V;y  don't  you  bite  him  ?  "  Silverstein 
taunted  shrilly. 

In  the  stillness  the  sally  was  heard  over 


THE   GAME 

the  whole  house,  and 
the  audience,  relieved 
of  its  anxiety  for  its 
favorite,  laughed  with 
an  uproariousness  that 
had  in  it  the  note  of 
hysteria.  Even  Gene- 
vieve  felt  that  there  was 
something  irresistibly  funny  in  the  remark, 
and  the  relief  of  the  audience  was  com 
municated  to  her;  yet  she  felt  sick  and 
faint,  and  was  overwrought  with  horror  at 
what  she  had  seen  and  was  seeing. 

"  Bite  'm  !  Bite  'm  !  "  voices  from  the 
recovered  audience  were  shouting.  cc  Chew 
his  ear  off,  Ponta !  That's  the  only  way 
you  can  get  'm  !  Eat  'm  up  !  Eat  'm  up  ! 
Oh,  why  don't  you  eat  'm  up  ? " 

The  effect  was  bad  on  Ponta.  He  be 
came  more  frenzied  than  ever,  and  more 


THE   GAME  149 

impotent.  He  panted  and  sobbed,  wasting 
his  effort  by  too  much  effort,  losing  sanity 
and  control  and  futilely  trying  to .  com 
pensate  for  the  loss  by  excess  of  physical 
endeavor.  He  knew  only  the  blind  desire 
to  destroy,  shook  Joe  in  the  clinches  as  a 
terrier  might  a  rat,  strained  and  struggled  for 
freedom  of  body  and  arms,  and  all  the  while 
Joe  calmly  clutched  and  held  on.  The  ref 
eree  worked  manfully  and  fairly  to  separate 
them.  Perspiration  ran  down  his  face.  It 
took  all  his  strength  to  split  those  clinging 
bodies,  and  no  sooner  had  he  split  them 
than  Joe  fell  unharmed  into  another  embrace 
and  the  work  had  to  be  done  all  over  again. 
In  vain,  when  freed,  did  Ponta  try  to  avoid 
the  clutching  arms  and  twining  body.  He 
could  not  keep  away.  He  had  to  come 
close  in  order  to  strike,  and  each  time  Joe 
baffled  him  and  caught  him  in  his  arms. 


150 


THE   GAME 


And  Genevieve,  crouched  in  the  little 
dressing-room  and  peering  through  the 
peep-hole,  was  baffled,  too.  She  was  an 
interested  party  in  what  seemed 
a  death-struggle  —  was  not 
one  of  the  fighters  her  Joe  ? 
—  but  the  audience  under 
stood  and  she  did  not. 
The  Game  had  not  un 
veiled  to  her.  The  lure 
of  it  was  beyond  her. 
It  was  greater  mystery 
than  ever.  She  could 
not  comprehend  its  power. 
What  delight  could  there  be 
for  Joe  in  that  brutal  surging 
and  straining  of  bodies,  those 
fierce  clutches,  fiercer  -blows,  and  terrible 
hurts  ?  Surely,  she,  Genevieve,  offered 
more  than  that  —  rest,  and  content,  and 


THE    GAME  151 

sweet,  calm  joy.  Her  bid  for  the  heart 
of  him  and  the  soul  of  him  was  finer  and 
more  generous  than  the  bid  of  the  Game ; 
yet  he  dallied  with  both  —  held  her  in  his 
arms,  but  turned  his  head  to  listen  to  that 
other  and  siren  call  she  could  not  under 
stand. 

The  gong  struck.  The  round  ended 
with  a  break  in  Ponta's  corner.  The  white- 
faced  young  second  was  through  the  ropes 
with  the  first  clash  of  sound.  He  seized 
Joe  in  his  arms,  lifted  him  clear  of  the 
floor,  and  ran  with  him  across  the  ring  to 
his  own  corner.  His  seconds  worked  over 
him  furiously,  chafing  his  legs,  slapping 
his  abdomen,  stretching  the  hip-cloth  out 
with  their  fingers  so  that  he  might  breathe 
more  easily.  For  the  first  time  Genevieve 
saw  the  stomach-breathing  of  a  man,  an 
abdomen  that  rose  and  fell  far  more  with 


I52 


THE    GAME 


every  breath  than  her  breast  rose  and  fell 
after  she  had  run  for  a  car.  The  pungency 
of  ammonia  bit  her  nostrils,  wafted  to  her 
from  the  soaked  sponge 
wherefrom  he  breathed 
the  fiery  fumes  that 
cleared  his  brain. 
He  gargled  his 
mouth  and  throat, 
took  a  suck  at  a 
divided  lemon,  and 
all  the  while  the 
towels  worked  like 
mad,  driving  oxygen 
into  his  lungs  to 
purge  the  pounding  blood  and 
send  it  back  revivified  for  the  struggle  yet 
to  come.  His  heated  body  was  sponged 
with  water,  doused  with  it,  and  bottles  were 
turned  mouth-downward  on  his  head. 


CHAPTER  VI 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  gong  for  the  sixth  round  struck,  and 
both  men  advanced  to  meet  each  other, 
their  bodies  glistening  with  water.  Ponta 
rushed  two-thirds  of  the  way  across  the 
ring,  so  intent  was  he  on  getting  at  his  man 
before  full  recovery  could  be  effected.  But 
Joe  had  lived  through.  He  was  strong 
again,  and  getting  stronger.  He  blocked 
several  vicious  blows  and  then  smashed 
back,  sending  Ponta  reeling.  He  attempted 
to  follow  up,  but  wisely  forbore  and  con- 


158  THE   GAME 

tented  himself  with  blocking  and  covering 
up  in  the  whirlwind  his  blow  had  raised. 

The  fight  was  as  it  had  been  at  the  be 
ginning —  Joe  protecting,  Ponta  rushing. 
But  Ponta  was  never  at  ease.  He  did  not 
have  it  all  his  own  way.  At  any  moment, 
in  his  fiercest  onslaughts,  his  opponent  was 
liable  to  lash  out  and  reach  him.  Joe  saved 
his  strength.  He  struck  one  blow  to 
Ponta's  ten,  but  his  one  blow  rarely  missed. 
Ponta  overwhelmed  him  in  the  attacks,  yet 
could  do  nothing  with  him,  while  Joe's 
tiger-like  strokes,  always  imminent,  com 
pelled  respect.  They  toned  Ponta's 
ferocity.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  go  in 
with  the  complete  abandon  of  destructive- 
ness  which  had  marked  his  earlier  efforts, 

But  a  change  was  coming  over  the 
fight.  The  audience  was  quick  to  note 
it,  and  even  Genevieve  saw  it  by  the 


"Joe  protecting,   Ponta  rushing." 


THE   GAME  161 

beginning  of  the  ninth  round.  Joe  was 
taking  the  offensive.  In  the  clinches  it 
was  he  who  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
small  of  the  back,  striking  the  terrible 
kidney  blow.  He  did 
it  once,  in  each 
clinch,  but  with 
all  his  strength,  and  he 
did  it  every  clinch.  Then, 
in  the  break-aways,  he  be 
gan  to  upper-cut  Ponta  on 
the  stomach,  or  to  hook 
his  jaw  or  strike  straight 
out  upon  the  mouth.  But 
at  first  sign  of  a  coming  whirlwind, 
would  dance  nimbly  away  and  cover  up. 
Two  rounds  of  this  went  by,  and  three, 
but  Ponta's  strength,  though  perceptibly 
less,  did  not  diminish  rapidly.  Joe's  task 
was  to  wear  down  that  strength,  not  with 


i6a  THE   GAME 

one  blow,  nor  ten,  but  with  blow  after 
blow,  without  end,  until  that  enormous 

strength    should   be    beaten    sheer   out   of 

* 

its  body.  There  was  no  rest  for  the  man. 
Joe  followed  him  up,  step  by  step,  his 
advancing  left  foot  making  an  audible  tap, 
tap,  tap,  on  the  hard  canvas.  Then  there 
would  come  a  sudden  leap  in,  tiger-like, 
a  blow  struck,  or  blows,  and  a  swift  leap 
back,  whereupon  the  left  foot  would  take 
up  again  its  tapping  advance.  When 
Ponta  made  his  savage  rushes,  Joe  care 
fully  covered  up,  only  to  emerge,  his  left 
foot  going  tap,  tap,  tap,  as  he  immediately 
followed  up. 

Ponta  was  slowly  weakening.  To  the 
crowd  the  end  was  a  foregone  conclu 
sion. 

"  Oh,  you,  Joe ! "  it  yelled  its  admiration 
and  affection. 


THE   GAME 


163 


"It's  a  shame  to  take  the  money!"  it 
mocked.  "  Why  don't  you  eat  'm,  Ponta  ? 
Go  on  in  an'  eat  'm ! " 

In  the  one-minute  intermissions  Ponta's 
seconds  worked  over  him  as  they  had  not 
worked  before.  Their  calm  trust  in  his  tre 
mendous  vitality  had  been  betrayed.  Gene- 
vieve  watched  their  excited 
efforts,  while  she  listened 
to  the  white-faced  sec 
ond  cautioning  Joe. 

"Take       your 
time/'  he  was  say 
ing.      "  You've   got 
'm,  but   you   got  to 
take  your  time.  I've 
seen  'm  fight.     He's 
got  a  punch  to  the  end  of  the 
count.     I've  seen  'm  knocked  out  and  clean 
batty,  an'  go  on    punchin'  just   the   same, 


1 64  THE   GAME 

Mickey  Sullivan  had  'm  goin*.  Puts  'm  to 
the  mat  as  fast  as  he  crawls  up,  six  tihies, 
an*  then  leaves  an  opening.  Ponta  reaches 
for  his  jaw,  an  two  minutes  afterward  Mick 
ey's  openin'  his  eyes  an*  askin'  what's 
doin'.  So  you've  got  to  watch  'm.  No 
goin'  in  an'  absorbin'  one  of  them  lucky 
punches,  now.  I  got  money  on  this  fight, 
but  I  don't  call  it  mine  till  he's  counted 
out." 

Ponta  was  being  doused  with  water.  As 
the  gong  sounded,  one  of  his  seconds 
inverted  a  water  bottle  on  his  head.  He 
started  toward  the  centre  of  the  ring,  and 
the  second  followed  him  for  several  steps, 
keeping  the  bottle  still  inverted.  The 
referee  shouted  at  him,  and  he  fled  the 
ring,  dropping  the  bottle  as  he  fled.  It 
rolled  over  and  over,  the  water  gurgling 
out  upon  the  canvas  till  the  referee,  with 


THE  GAME  165 

a   quick   flirt   of   his   toe,   sent    the   bottle 
rolling   through  the  ropes. 

In  all  the  previous  rounds  Genevieve 
had  not  seen  Joe's  fighting  face  which 
had  been  prefigured  to  her  that  morning 
in  the  department  store.  Sometimes  his 
face  had  been  quite  boyish ;  other  times, 
when  taking  his  fiercest  punishment,  it  had 
been  bleak  and  gray ;  and  still  later,  when 
living  through  and  clutching  and  holding 
on,  it  had  taken  on  a  wistful  expression. 
But  now,  out  of  danger  himself  and  as  he 
forced  the  fight,  his  fighting  face  came 
upon  him.  She  saw  it  and  shuddered. 
It  removed  him  so  far  from  her.  She  had 
thought  she  knew  him,  all  of  him,  and 
held  him  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand ;  but 
this  she  did  not  know  —  this  face  of  steel, 
this  mouth  of  steel,  these  eyes  of  steel 
flashing  the  light  and  glitter  of  steel.  It 


i66 


THE   GAME 


seemed  to  her  the  pas 
sionless    face    of   an 
avenging  angel,  stamped 
only    with    the    purpose 
of  the  Lord. 

Ponta  attempted 
one  of  his  old- 
time  rushes,  but  was 
stopped  on  the 
mouth.  Implacable, 
ent,  ever  menacing,  never  let 
ting  him  rest,  Joe  followed  him  up.  The 
round,  the  thirteenth,  closed  with  a  rush, 
in  Ponta's  corner.  He  attempted  a  rally, 
was  brought  to  his  knees,  took  the  nine 
seconds'  count,  and  then  tried  to  clinch  into 
safety,  only  to  receive  four  of  Joe's  terrible 
stomach  punches,  so  that  with  the  gong 
he  fell  back,  gasping,  into  the  arms  of  his 
seconds. 


insist- 


THE   GAME  167 

Joe  ran  across  the  ring  to  his  own 
corner. 

"  Now  I'm  going  to  get  'm,"  he  said  to 
his  second. 

"You  sure  fixed  'm  that  time,"  the  latter 
answered.  "Nothin'  to  stop  you  now  but 
a  lucky  punch.  Watch  out  for  it." 

Joe  leaned  forward,  feet  gathered  under 
him  for  a  spring,  like  a  foot-racer  waiting 
the  start.  He  was  waiting  for  the  gong. 
When  it  sounded  he  shot  forward  and 
across  the  ring,  catching  Ponta  in  the  midst 
of  his  seconds  as  he  rose  from  his  stool. 
And  in  the  midst  of  his  seconds  Ponta 
went  down,  knocked  down  by  a  right- 
hand  blow.  As  he  arose  from  the  con 
fusion  of  buckets,  stools,  and  seconds,  Joe 
put  him  down  again.  And  yet  a  third 
time  he  went  down  before  he  could  escape 
from  his  own  corner. 


i68 


THE   GAME 


Joe    had    at  last  become    the    whirlwind. 
Genevieve    remembered    his    "Just   watch, 
you'll  know  when   I  go  after  him."     The 
house    knew   it,    too.     It   was    on    its  feet, 
every    voice    raised    in    a 
fierce    yell.      It 
"    was   the    blood- 
cry  of  the  crowd,  and 
it  sounded  to  her  like 
what     she     imagined 
must  be  the    howling 
of  wolves.      And   what 
with  confidence  in  her  lover's 
victory  she  found  room  in  her 
heart  to  pity  Ponta. 
In  vain  he  struggled  to  defend  himself, 
to  block,  to   cover  up,  to   duck,  to  clinch 
into    a    moment's    safety.       That    moment 
was  denied  him.     Knockdown  after  knock 
down  was  his   portion.     He  was   knocked 


THE   GAME  169 

to  the  canvas  backwards,  and  sideways,  was 
punched  in  the  clinches  and  in  the  break 
aways  • —  stiff,  jolty  blows  that  dazed  his 
brain  and  drove  the  strength  from  his 
muscles.  He  was  knocked  into  the  corners 
and  out  again,  against  the  ropes,  rebound 
ing,  and  with  another  blow  against  the  ropes 
once  more.  He  fanned  the  air  with  his 
arms,  showering  savage  blows  upon  empti 
ness.  There  was  nothing  human  left  in 
him.  He  was  the  beast  incarnate,  roaring 
and  raging  and  being  destroyed.  He  was 
smashed  down  to  his  knees,  but  refused 
to  take  the  count,  staggering  to  his  feet 
only  to  be  met  stiff-handed  on  the  mouth 
and  sent  hurling  back  against  the  ropes. 

In  sore  travail,  gasping,  reeling,  panting, 
with  glazing  eyes  and  sobbing  breath,  gro 
tesque  and  heroic,  fighting  to  the  last,  striv 
ing  to  get  at  his  antagonist,  he  surged 


1 7o 


THE   GAME 


and    was    driven     about    the    ring.       And 
in    that    moment    Joe's    foot    slipped    on 
the    wet    canvas.      Ponta's 
swimming  eyes  saw  and 
knew    the    chance.     All 
the    fleeing   strength    of 
his  body  gathered  itself 
together  for  the   lightning 
lucky  punch.    Even  as  Joe 
slipped    the    other    smote 
him,  fairly  on  the  point  of 
the  chin.      He  went   over 
backward.     Genevieve  saw 
his  muscles  relax  while  he 
was  yet  in  the  air,  and  she 
heard  the  thud  of  his  head 
on  the  canvas. 

The  noise  of  the  yelling  house  died 
suddenly.  The  referee,  stooping  over  the 
inert  body,  was  counting  the  seconds. 


THE   GAME  171 

Ponta  tottered  and  fell  to  his  knees.  He 
struggled  to  his  feet,  swaying  back  and 
forth  as  he  tried  to  sweep  the  audience 
with  his  hatred.  His  legs  were  trembling 
and  bending  under  him ;  he  was  choking 
and  sobbing,  fighting  to  breathe.  He 
reeled  backward,  and  saved  himself  from 
falling  by  a  blind  clutching  for  the  ropes. 
He  clung  there,  drooping  and  bending 
and  giving  in  all  his  body,  his  head  upon 
his  chest,  until  the  referee  counted  the 
fatal  tenth  second  and  pointed  to  him  in 
token  that  he  had  won. 

He  received  no  applause,  and  he 
squirmed  through  the  ropes,  snakelike, 
into  the  arms  of  his  seconds,  who  helped 
him  to  the  floor  and  supported  him  down 
the  aisle  into  the  crowd.  Joe  remained 
where  he  had  fallen.  His  seconds  carried 
him  into  his  corner  and  placed  him  on 


172 


THE   GAME 


the  stool.  Men  began  climbing  into  the 
ring,  curious  to  see,  but  were  roughly 
shoved  out  by  the  policemen,  who  were 
already  there. 

Genevieve  looked  on  from  her  peep 
hole.  She  was  not  greatly  perturbed. 
Her  lover  had  been  knocked  out.  In  so 
far  as  disappointment  was  his,  she  shared 
it  with  him ;  but  that  was  all.  She  even 
felt  glad  in  a  way.  The  Game  had  played 
him  false,  and  he  was  more  surely  hers. 
She  had  heard  of  knockouts  from  him.  It 


THE   GAME  173 

often  took  men  some  time  to  recover  from 
the  effects.  It  was  not  till  she  heard  the 
seconds  asking  for  the  doctor  that  she 
felt  really  worried. 

They  passed  his  limp  body  through  the 
ropes  to  the  stage,  and  it  disappeared  be 
yond  the  limits  of  her  peep-hole.  Then 
the  door  of  her  dressing-room  was  thrust 
open  and  a  number  of  men  came  in. 
They  were  carrying  Joe.  He  was  laid 
down  on  the  dusty  floor,  his  head  resting 
on  the  knee  of  one  of  the  seconds.  No 
one  seemed  surprised  by  her  presence. 
She  came  over  and  knelt  beside  him. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  his  lips  slightly 
parted.  His  wet  hair  was  plastered  in 
straight  locks  about  his  face.  She  lifted 
one  of  his  hands.  It  was  very  heavy,  and 
the  lifelessness  of  it  shocked  her.  She 
looked  suddenly  at  the  faces  of  the  seconds 


174  THE   GAME 

and  of  the/men  about  her.  They  seemed 
frightened,  all  save  one,  and  he  was  curs 
ing,  in  a  low  voice,  horribly.  She  looked 
up  and  saw  Silverstein  standing  beside 
her.  He,  too,  seemed  frightened.  He 
rested  a  kindly  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
tightening  the  fingers  with  a  sympathetic 
pressure. 

This  sympathy  frightened  her.  She 
began  to  feel  dazed.  There  was  a  bustle  as 
somebody  entered  the  room.  The  person 
came  forward,  proclaiming  irritably  :  "  Get 
out !  Get  out !  You've  got  to  clear  the 
room  ! " 

A  number  of  men  silently  obeyed. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  he  abruptly  demanded 
of  Genevieve.  "A  girl,  as  I'm  alive  ! " 

"  That's  all  right,  she's  his  girl,"  spoke 
up  a  young  fellow  she  recognized  as  her 
guide. 


THE    GAME  175 

"  And  you  ?  "  the  other  man  blurted  ex 
plosively   at   Silverstein. 

"  I'm  vit  her,"   he  answered  truculently. 


"  She    works    for    him,"    explained    the 

young  fellow.     "It's  all  right,  I  tell  you." 

The  newcomer  grunted  and  knelt  down. 


176  THE   GAME 

He  passed  a  hand  over  the  damp  head, 
grunted  again,  and  arose  to  his  feet. 

"  This  is  no  case  for  me,"  he  said. 
"  Send  for  the  ambulance." 

Then  the  thing  became  a  dream  to 
Genevieve.  Maybe  she  had  fainted,  she  did 
not  know,  but  for  what  other  reason  should 
Silverstein  have  his  arm  around  her  support 
ing  her  ?  All  the  faces  seemed  blurred  and 
unreal.  Fragments  of  a  discussion  came  to 
her  ears.  The  young  fellow  who  had  been 
her  guide  was  saying  something  about 
reporters.  "  You  vill  get  your  name  in  der 
papers,"  she  could  hear  Silverstein  saying  to 
her,  as  from  a  great  distance ;  and  she  knew 
she  was  shaking  her  head  in  refusal. 

There  was  an  eruption  of  new  faces, 
and  she  saw  Joe  carried  out  on  a  canvas 
stretcher.  Silverstein  was  buttoning  the 
long  overcoat  and  drawing  the  collar  about 


THE   GAME 


177 


her  face.    She  felt  the  night 
air  on   her  cheek,   and 
looking    up    saw   the 
clear,  cold  stars.    She 
jammed  into  a  seat. 
Silverstein  was  beside 
her.  Joe  was  there, 
too,  still  on   his 
stretcher,  with 
blankets  over  his 

naked  body;  and  there  TOI  was   a 

man  in  a  blue  uniform  who  spoke  kindly 
to  her,  though  she  did  not  know  what  he 
said.  Horses'  hoofs  were  clattering,  and  she 
was  lurching  somewhere  through  the  night. 
Next,  light  and  voices,  and  a  smell  of 
iodoform.  This  must  be  the  receiving  hos 
pital,  she  thought,  this  the  operating  table, 
those  the  doctors.  They  were  examining 
Joe.  One  of  them,  a  dark-eyed,  dark- 


178  THE   GAME 

bearded,  foreign-looking  man,  rose  up  from 
bending  over  the  table. 

"  Never  saw  anything  like  it,"  he  was 
saying  to  another  man.  "  The  whole  back 
of  the  skull." 

Her  lips  were  hot  and  dry,  and  there 
was  an  intolerable  ache  in  her  throat.  But 
why  didn't  she  cry  ?  She  ought  to  cry ; 
she  felt  it  incumbent  upon  her.  There  was 
Lottie  (there  had  been  another  change  in 
the  dream),  across  the  little  narrow  cot 
from  her,  and  she  was  crying.  Somebody 
was  saying  something  about  the  coma  of 
death.  It  was  not  the  foreign-looking 
doctor,  but  somebody  else.  It  did  not 
matter  who  it  was.  What  time  was  it  ?  As 
if  in  answer,  she  saw  the  faint  white  light 
of  dawn  on  the  windows. 

"  I  was  going  to  be  married  to-day," 
she  said  to  Lottie. 


THE   GAME  179 

And  from  across  the  cot  his  sister  wailed, 
"  Don't,  don't ! "  and,  covering  her  face, 
sobbed  afresh. 

This,  then,  was  the  end  of  it  all  —  of 
the  carpets,  and  furniture,  and  the  little 
rented  house ;  of  the  meetings  and  walking 
out,  the  thrilling  nights  of  starshine,  the 
deliciousness  of  surrender,  the  loving  and 
the  being  loved.  She  was  stunned  by  the 
awful  facts  of  this  Game  she  did  not  under 
stand —  the  grip  it  laid  on  men's  souls,  its 
irony  and  faithlessness,  its  risks  and  haz 
ards  and  fierce  insurgences  of  the  blood, 
making  woman  pitiful,  not  the  be-all  and 
end-all  of  man,  but  his  toy  and  his  pastime ; 
to  woman  his  mothering  and  care-taking, 
his  moods  and  his  moments,  but  to  the 
Game  his  days  and  nights  of  striving,  the 
tribute  of  his  head  and  hand,  his  most 
patient  toil  and  wildest  effort,  all  the  strain 


i8o 


THE   GAME 


and  the  stress  of  his  being  —  to  the  Game, 
his  heart's  desire. 

Silverstein    was    helping   her  to  her  feet. 
She  obeyed  blindly,  the  daze  of  the  dream 


still  on  her.     His  hand 
\        grasped  her  arm  and  he 
was  turning   her   toward 
the  door. 

Oh,  why  don't  you  kiss  him? " 
Lottie  cried  out,  her  dark  eyes  mournful 
and  passionate. 


THE   GAiME  181 

Genevieve  stooped  obediently  over  the 
quiet  clay  and  pressed  her  lips  to  the  lips 
yet  warm.  The  door  opened  and  she 
passed  into  another  room.  There  stood 
Mrs.  Silverstein,  with  angry  eyes  that 
snapped  vindictively  at  sight  of  her  boy's 
clothes. 

Silverstein  looked  beseechingly  at  his 
spouse,  but  she  burst  forth  savagely :  — 

"  Vot  did  I  tell  you,  eh  ?  Vot  did  I  tell 
you  ?  You  vood  haf  a  bruiser  for  your 
steady !  An*  now  your  name  vill  be  in  all 
der  papers  !  At  a  prize  fight  —  vit  boy's 
clothes  on !  You  liddle  strumpet !  You 
hussy  !  You  —  " 

But  a  flood  of  tears  welled  into  her  eyes 
and  voice,  and  with  her  fat  arms  outstretched, 
ungainly,  ludicrous,  holy  with  motherhood, 
she  tottered  over  to  the  quiet  girl  and  folded 
her  to  her  breast.  She  muttered  gasping, 


182 


THE   GAME 


inarticulate  love-words,  rocking  slowly  to 
and  fro  the  while,  and  patting  Genevieve's 
shoulder  with  her  ponderous  hand* 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

By  JACK  LONDON 

Author  of  "The  Call  of  the  Wild,"  "The  Faith  of  Me*," 
"The  Children  of  the  Frost?  etc, 

ILLUSTRATED   BY  W.  J.  AYLWARD 

Cloth       ismo       $1.50 


"  Other  fiction  seems  decidedly  losing  in  savor  and  piquancy.  This 
story  surely  has  the  pure  Stevensonian  ring,  the  adventurous  glamour, 
the  vertebrate  stoicism.  'Tis  surely  the  story  of  the  making  of  a  man, 
the  sculptor  being  Captain  Larsen,  and  the  clay,  the  ease-loving,  well- 
to-do  half-drowned  man,  to  all  appearances  his  helpless  prey." —  Critu. 

"  Jack  London  is  one  of  the  surprises  of  the  literary  world,  having 
within  the  short  space  of  five  years  placed  himself  among  the  foremost 
of  American  novelists.  His  recent  book,  'The  Call  of  the  Wild,'  is 
one  of  the  most  sought  books  of  the  day  and  has  established  for  him  a 
place  in  the  ranks  of  American  novelists  that  is  unquestioned." 

—  Detroit  Tribune. 

«<The  Call  of  the  Wild'  was  the  reigning  sensation  in  letters  last 
year,  and  his  more  recent  book  is  leagues  in  advance  of  its  predecessor 
in  fibre,  in  subtlety  of  insight,  in  graphic  and  vigorous  stroke." 

—  The  Republic,  Boston. 

" '  The  Sea-Wolf,'  Jack  London's  latest  novel  of  adventure,  is  one  that 
every  reader  with  good  red  blood  in  his  veins  will  hail  with  delight. 
There  is  no  fumbling  of  the  trigger  here,  no  nervous  and  uncertain 
sighting  along  the  barrel,  but  the  quick,  decisive  aim  and  the  bull's-eye 
every  time." — Mail  and  Express,  New  York. 

"  Promises  to  be  full  of  that  vivid  realism  for  which  the  tales  of  this 
writer  are  noted."  —  Brooklyn  Eagle. 


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THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD 

By  JACK   LONDON 

Author  of  "  The  Children  of  the  Frost,"  etc. 

With  Illustrations  in  Color  by  PHILIP  R.  GOODWIN  and  CHARLES 

LIVINGSTON  BULL 
Decorated  by  CHARLES  EDWARD  HOOPER 

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M  A  tale  that  is  literature  .  .  .  the  unity  of  its  plan  and  the  firmness  of  its  execu 
tion  are  equally  remarkable  ...  a  story  that  grips  the  reader  deeply.  It  is  art,  it 
is  literature.  ...  It  stands  apart,  far  apart  .  .  .  with  so  much  skill,  so  much  rea 
sonableness,  so  much  convincing  logic."  — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Jack  London  is  one  of  the  very  few  younger  writers  who  are  making  enviable 
records  for  themselves.  .  .  .  The  literary  quality  and  virile  strength  of  his  stories 
increase  ...  for  the  present  at  least  he  is  without  a  rival.  ...  His  latest  volume 
is  his  best  in  the  picturesque  and  imaginative  quality  of  the  born  story-teller.  .  .  . 
The  book  is  a  series  of  remarkable  pictures  .  .  .  but  above  all  it  is  a  picture  of  dog 
life  that  in  its  wonderful  imaginative  quality  stands  quite  alone  .  .  .  possesses  an 
originality  and  a  sort  of  virile  poetry  .  .  .  altogether  a  most  exceptional  book." 

—  New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"A  big  story  in  sober  English,  and  with  thorough  art  in  the  construction  ...  a 
wonderfully  perfect  bit  of  work  ...  a  book  that  will  be  heard  of.  The  dog  adven 
tures  are  as  exciting  as  any  man's  exploits  could  be,  and  Mr.  London's  workman 
ship  is  wholly  satisfying."  —  The  New  York  Sun. 

"  The  story  is  one  that  will  stir  the  blood  of  every  lover  of  a  life  in  its  closest  rela 
tion  to  nature.  Whoever  loves  the  open  or  adventure  for  its  own  sake  will  find 
1  The  Call  of  the  Wild '  a  most  fascinating  book."  —  The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Even  the  most  listless  reader  will  be  stirred  by  the  virile  force  of  the  story,  the 
strong,  sweeping  strokes  with  which  the  pictures  of  the  northern  wilds  and  the  life 
therein  are  painted  by  the  narrator,  and  the  insight  given  into  the  soul  of  the  primi 
tive  in  nature.  .  .  .  More  than  that,  it  is  one  of  the  very  best  stories  of  the  year, 
and  one  that  will  not  be  forgotten."  —  The  Plain  Dealer,  Cleveland. 

"A  marvellously  interesting  story  ...  a  story  that  must  command  interest  and 
admiration.  .  .  .  London  has  achieved  a  triumph  in  this  story  in  the  fullest  sense 
of  the  word.  It  is  written  in  masterly  fashion.  There  are  whole  pages  that  thrill 
like  poetry,  whole  passages  that  glow  with  splendid  truth."  —  Louisville  Times. 

"  In  the  first  paragraphs  of  this  superb  story  the  reader's  interest  is  irresistibly 
aroused  and  attention  is  held  enchained  to  the  end ;  .  .  .  here  is  excitement  to  stir 
the  blood,  here  is  picturesque  color  to  transport  the  reader  to  primitive  scenes,  .  .  . 
and  here  is  excellence  of  literary  workmanship  deserving  of  unreserved  praise." 

—  The  Press,  Philadelphia. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  former  stories  of  life  .  .  .  has  he  given  promise  of  the  splendid 
and  original  genius  he  has  displayed  in  4  The  Call  of  the  Wild.'  .  .  .  Great  books 
are  the  simplest  .  .  .  humanity  answers  the  deep  cry  of  this  tale.  A  great  under 
current  is  carried  below  the  surface  of  the  story,  a  force  old  as  the  world,  the  cry  of 
the  younger  world."  —  The  Louisville  Courier- Journal. 

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THE  FAITH  OF  MEN 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 

By  JACK   LONDON 
Cloth  i2tno  $1.50 


"These  stories  help  to  confirm  the  reputation  which  the  author's  pen  has 
won  for  him."  —  Literary  Digest, 

"  Mr.  London's  art  as  a  story-teller  nowhere  manifests  itself  more  strongly 
than  in  the  swift,  dramatic  close  of  his  stories.  There  is  no  hesitancy  or 
uncertainty  of  touch.  From  the  start  the  story  moves  straight  to  the  inevi 
table  conclusion."  —  Courier-Journal. 

"It  is  in  the  Northland  that  our  Klondike  Kipling  is  at  his  best,  and 
these  stories  grip  the  imagination  with  wizard  strength.  They  possess  the 
literary  quality  and  strong  sense  of  dramatic  values  so  marked  in  this  remark 
able  author." — Boston  Herald. 

"  Full  of  vigor  and  throbbing  with  interest,  the  collection  forms  a  notable 
contribution  to  the  great  number  of  short  stories  which  give  impressive 
glimpses  of  real  life  in  various  parts  of  the  new  world."  —  Brooklyn  Life. 

"  They  have  all  that  fresh  vitality  that  has  come  to  us  as  a  revelation  from 
Jack  London,  that  first-hand  observation  of  the  ways  of  men,  and,  too,  the 
first-hand  choice  of  words."  —  Chicago  Record- Her  aid. 


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THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE 
ABYSS 

By  JACK   LONDON 

With  many  illustrations  from  photographs 
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"  Mr.  London's  book  is  a  powerful  presentation  of  a  repellent  theme,  but  it 
is  well  that  thinking  men  should  know  the  facts  about  these  horrors  —  hunger 
and  filth  and  cold  and  suffering  —  that  they  may  set  to  work  to  change  a  sys 
tem  that  works  such  an  iniquity."  —  Nashville  News. 

"  '  One  of  the  most  wonderful  books  that  you  have  on  your  list,'  one  of  the 
leading  booksellers  in  the  country  writes  in  a  letter  to  the  publishers  of  Mr. 
Jack  London's  '  People  of  the  Abyss.'  *  The  more  I  read  it  the  more  I  am 
impressed  with  its  deep  insight  in  a  world  that  is  little  known.'  In  a  post 
script  the  dealer  adds :  'I  sat  up  last  night  till  after  one,  reading  this  book 
for  the  second  time.' "  —  Colorado  Springs  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Jack  London  is  earning  laurels  in  many  fields.  His  latest  work, 
'  People  of  the  Abyss,'  can  only  add  to  a  reputation  already  deservedly  high. 
It  relates  his  experiences  during  the  summer  of  1902,  when  he  went  '  down 
into  the  underworld  of  London'  to  study  the  life  of  the  miserable  denizens  of 
that  Inferno.  This  life  has  been  pictured  many  times  before,  complacently 
and  soothingly  by  Professor  Walter  A.  Wyckoff,  luridly  by  Mr.  Stead,  scientifi 
cally  by  Mr.  Charles  Booth.  But  Mr.  London  alone  has  made  it  real  and 
present  to  us."  —  The  Independent. 

" '  People  of  the  Abyss '  cannot  be  criticised ;  it  is  a  realistic  portrayal  of 
serious  truths.  Written  with  the  fascination  of  a  story,  it  is  worthy  the  interest 
of  any  serious  reader.  It  is  illustrated  from  photographs  of  the  people  among 
whom  he  lived  and  whom  he  studied  in  their  haunts,  their  homes  and  work 
shops,  that  he  might  determine  the  drift  of  their  lives." —  Town  and  Country. 

"  It  takes  a  strong  grip  on  the  reader  in  the  first  few  pages  and  holds  it  with 
tightening  clutch  to  the  end." — Plain  Dealer,  Cleveland. 


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WAR  OF  THE  CLASSES 

By  JACK   LONDON 
Cloth  1 2 mo  $  1.50  net 


CONTENTS 

THE  CLASS  STRUGGLE 

THE  TRAMP 

THE  SCAB 

THE  QUESTION  OF  THE  MAXIMUM  :  A  REVIEW 

WANTED  :    A  NEW  LAW  OF  DEVELOPMENT 

HOW    I    BECAME    A    SOCIALIST 


"  Mr.  London's  book  is  thoroughly  interesting,  and  Mr.  London's  point  of 
view  is,  as  may  be  surmised,  very  different  from  that  of  the  closet  theorist." 
—  Springfield  Republican. 

"  His  clear  and  incisive  thinking  arrests  attention  —  on  many  points  carries 
conviction  —  and  on  the  whole  illuminates  its  subject."  —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

"  The  book  is  worth  thoughtful  consideration."  —  Congregationalism 

"  The  statements  of  this  book  are  as  bare  and  bold  as  the  story  of  the  '  Sea- 
Wolf,'  and  present  the  socialists'  and  laborers'  side  of  the  economic  situation 
with  vigor,  clearness,  and  impressiveness."  —  The  Watchman. 


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THE  KEMPTON-WACE  LETTERS 

By  JACK   LONDON  and  ANNA  STRUNSKY 
Cloth  i2tno  $1.50 

"  I  am  much  impressed  by  the  book ;  ...  it  is  an  entertaining,  thought- 
compelling  book.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  became  a  classic  on  the 
subject  of  love."  —  EDWIN  MARKHAM,  West erleigh,  Stat en  Island,  N.Y. 

"This  unique  little  volume  is  among  the  few  contributions  to  the  year's 
fiction  that  deserve  serious  consideration."  —  The  Commercial  Advertiser. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  FROST 

By  JACK   LONDON 

Author  of  "  The  Son  of  the  Wolf,"  "  The  God  of  his 
Fathers,"  etc. 

With  Illustrations  by  RAPHAEL  M.  REAY 
Cloth  1 2  mo  $  1.50 

"Told  with  something  of  that  same  vigorous  and  honest  manliness  and 
indifference  with  which  Mr.  Kipling  makes  unbegging  yet  direct  and  unfailing 
appeal  to  the  sympathy  of  his  reader."  —  Richmond  Dispatch. 

**  Mr.  London  is  a  growing  literary  force.  He  is  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
strongest  of  our  young  writers,  if  not  the  strongest."  —  Denver  Republican. 

"  So  powerfully  written,  and  so  totally  different  from  the  great  mass  of 
books."  —  Toledo  Daily  Blade. 

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